Louisiana Luck
by AlliPaige
Summary: In the Louisiana bayou, Chad and his family hunt alligators for consumers, and it's a rewarding business! But when the owner's spoiled niece is sent from Los Angeles to the bayou as a punishment, Chad has to teach her not only how to work, but the meaning of working for what you want. Wants can change, wants can grow. The question is: What do they want? Rated M for themes and lang.
1. Chapter 1

**C H A D**

The hot Louisiana sun laughed at me as I poured the last of the boat's paint into the plastic container. I bitterly wiped the sweat from my brow as I dipped the paint brush in the bright white paint and continued brushing it along the motorboat's right side. As I grabbed a nearby towel and ran it across my face and chest, I couldn't help but think, why did God decide to make it so dang _hot_? Seriously, when he was creating the world, did the place where Louisiana would be have some giant sign that says, 'HEY, GOD! MAKE ME THE HOTTEST AND MOST HUMID PLACE IN AMERICA!'? Sometimes I think that God had it all mapped out. The heat and humidity seems to effect me more than everyone else... so when He's bored up there, does He just decide to make the heat index 110 degrees to see me suffer?

I wouldn't be surprised.

It always seems like the heat likes to kick itself up a notch whenever it's a day when I have to work outside. Whether it's testing new baits, cooking up some new bait combination, working on boats, even just feeding Mr. John's dog, the thermometer spikes! God, I'm sweating so badly that it's dripping onto the paint. I look up from my thoughts and glance at the thermometer on the cabin's outside wall behind me. It read _103_ degrees. Havin' a good laugh, God? I sure hope so, because I sure as hell don't think it's funny.

"Chad!"

I turned at the familiar sound. It was my boss, Mr. John, walking towards me with a skip in his step. I could tell that from a distance, he was already inspecting my work. Now, Mr. John Munroe is a great man and all, but this dude is the purest Cajun born if there ever was one (not counting his clean house and nice clothes). He's got a pot belly on him (but I'd never tell him that to his face) with a pronounced chin and shining eyes. He's always wearing his Mossy Oak cap, a pair of knee-high rubber boots, and some old t-shirt with dirty jeans to work. But that's just to _work_. You see him out in town, or making a trip to New Orleans, this guy is all fancied up with a suit and everything. Always got some gold rings on his fingers, but never works with them on. He treats those things like his wife birthed them.

"Hey, there, Mr. John," I tried to smile, but knew it was a wasted effort. Even without my shirt on, I sweat so much that it looks like I just got out of the shower. Well, maybe not _that_ bad, but you get what I'm saying.

"You close to done, boy?" he asked, resting his ringless hands on hips and looking over what I've painted so far. I couldn't tell you how badly I wanted to tell him to stop nitpicking about my work. _He's_ not the one out here in 103 degree weather with 90% humidity, painting and building a boat in the middle of the sunlight, soaked with perspiration. I'd never say that out loud, though. I don't say a lot of things on my mind. I've learned that it's just better to nod your head and say 'yes, sir' and 'no, sir'. That's what a Southern gentleman does.

"Just poured the last of the paint in there," I indicated towards the paint-filled plastic container. "Should be done in an hour or so."

"Alright. It's not lookin' too bad for the first coat," he nodded in approval. I did an internal sigh of relief. "Don't work too long." He looked up to the sky, squinting, the shadow of his cap retreating. "It's as hot as Hades out here. Don't want you passin' out or nothin'," he laughed, patting my back. He tried to hide the fact that he wiped his hand off on his jeans by saying some more compliments about the boat. It wasn't long before he nodded in a definite way and backed off so I could finish my work.

Mr. John is a good friend of my dad's. They were best friends at LSU and both came back down to the bayou after college, not sure of what they wanted to do with their lives, I guess. Mr. John had always hunted alligators every season along with my dad, but it didn't occur to Mr. John until a couple of months after they had gotten back that they might could use that as an advantage. They ended up making a business of it. Every year, in that 30 day gap where you can hunt, we unleash our army of alligator hunters. Me and my friend Buford included in the forces, of course.

No one had really heard of a business that focused on hunting gators, so it seems like it's the only one around. Of course, Game Management and animal rights freaks were on the doorstep, totally against it. In the end, we signed a contract saying that we would _only_ hunt during the regular season, and if we were caught hunting anywhere at any other time, we'd be charged with animal cruelty and be put out of business. Extreme, I know. But even if we didn't own a business specializing in it, it'd be illegal to hunt outside of gator season anyway, so I peronsally don't see what the big deal is.

My dad had his doubts. Since gator season is only 30 days a year, he asked what they'd be doing to make money for the rest of the time. They had to sit on that one for a little while, but decided to be making handmade boats and special, catered-to-the-customer baits that could be the business for the rest of the year. Of course, gator hunting isn't the only big thing around in these parts. Deer season, fishing, rabbit hunting, squirrel hunting, turtle hunting; there's not really anything that some of these down-home Cajuns won't hunt. We make equipment for all of that, too, and actually make pretty good money off of it. There's not many places around these small parts for stuff like that, so everyone (and I do mean _everyone_) comes to us.

I sighed and kept painting the boat, sick and tired of this heat. Well, it's too bad that I don't care more about my looks, or I'd be happy that I'm probably getting a killer tan right now. The girls seem to like it. I just finished my freshman year of college at LSU, but I don't know if I'm gonna go back. I might just stay here since they really need me at work. I do a lot of the heavy lifting, building, and Buford and I are one of the first boats to be tagged out every year. It just seems like this business is my life. I don't have time to worry about my looks or girls right now. Of course, according to my dad, this job _is_ helping me with girls in the long run. It's paying me pretty well, and girls like a guy who can support himself. Not to mention (ahem) that it's keeping me in pretty good shape.

My mom always used to say that I was an 'Angel Baby'. Sent straight from Heaven, she'd always say. Up until the day she died, she'd tell me that I was her Angel Baby, with my 'golden blonde hair and eyes as blue as the clearest river'. Too bad she didn't get to see the person I am now. I miss her, always so sweet, so kind. I'd never admit it to any of my friends, but even when I was a teenager and she'd call me her Angel Baby, it would _still_ give me a confidence boost. Just when I was starting to muscle up from work, a couple of months before she passed, she'd look at me with those adoring eyes that only a mother could possess and sigh. She'd look me up and down and say, 'What a handsome boy.' I would groan and then she'd correct herself. 'Oh! I mean, what a handsome _man_.'

God, I miss her.

She went up to Heaven about two years ago, looking just as beautiful at her funeral as she would any day when I'd come home and see her smiling face. I don't know what it was, but my mother was always the total romantic. I think that's why she complimented me all of time and tried to set me up with girls... she was _so_ determined that I find 'The One'. It got so ridiculous that at one point, me and dad just had to laugh about her matchmaking antics behind her back. She'd be known to go up to girls she didn't even know and try to get them to go out with me. They'd see me, smile, but then when Mom would keep on pushing and pushing and pushing, they'd get too freaked out and keep a distance.

It used to be annoying, but now I just miss it. I _wish_ she'd embarrass me in front of every girl at LSU, if it meant her coming back. But thinking that way won't help me, and it won't happen, so I pushed her out of my mind. I just thought the word 'paint' over and over again until the word itself seemed to soak my brain. I could see Mr. John watching me through his nearby cabin window. Who knows how much longer I've been out here. I'm pretty sure that I've been so absorbed in my thoughts that I've been painting on the same spot for the past who knows how long.

Did these hot work days never end? Told ya, God's laughing.

* * *

><p>"Is it just me, or does John seem a little more stressed than usual?" my dad asked me at supper that night. We were having left over deer tenderloin. It'd be delicious, if it weren't for the fact that we've eaten it for supper for the past two nights. We both kind of picked at it.<p>

"Come to think of it, he didn't talk to me much today," I told him, chewing a piece of deer meat thoughtfully. "He usually stays out there and offers me a beer—I mean, water." My dad narrowed his brown eyes. "Mr. John always asks me how my day is, how school's going... I don't know. Weird."

Dad chewed on this for a minute. "I hated that I had to miss work again today, but those damn migraines... they just won't go away. My point is, when he called me to see how I was doin' this afternoon, he sounded a little stressed. Almost a little nippy with me, if you know what I mean."

That surprised me. Mr. John is practically a member of our family, he's always very considerate—especially towards my dad. I've never seen so much respect shared between two men in my life. There has to be something up if he's being short with _my dad_. I made a mental note to see if I could get Mr. John to talk. I had to be careful, though. It took a lot to get him mad, but once you did get him angry, you better watch out. He has a temper on him. And since I'm not 21 yet, he still looks at me like a kid. He doesn't have much patience with children... I guess that's why he doesn't have any.

* * *

><p>The next day at work, before I even got a chance to ask Mr. John if he was alright, he called me into his office inside of one of the many cabins on his land. We weren't in the main building's office, which is much larger and more 'serious' than this, so that relieved me some. That means that whatever it is can't be that bad. Or, at least, I'm not getting fired. It'd take a lot to get me fired, right? He's best friends with my dad, he's been around for my entire childhood. Firing me would be like spitting in my dad's face, and Mr. John surely wasn't going to do that.<p>

"Take a seat, Chad," he sighed, removing his cap for a second to run his hand through his reddish-brown hair (I've never been sure if he's a ginger or not) and replacing it on his head. I quickly obeyed. "I need to have a word with you."

Oh no. He was trying to talk all proper. This _is_ more serious than I'd thought. "Fire away, Mr. John."

He sighed again, really deeply, and clasped his hands together on his desk. He waited a moment before he spoke. As he was silent, I glanced around the small office, counting the points on a deer head on the wall to the right of me. I always count things when I'm nervous. Don't ask me why.

"First of all, I want to apologize to you and your dad. I've been a little... on edge lately. Nervous, I guess."

"Nervous? Everything okay?"

"Of course, Chad. Just some family... _issues_, I guess. Nothing I can't handle." He didn't sound too sure.

"No one... ya know... died or anything did they?" I asked hesitantly. If that was the case, I'd be good with advice. I've gone through the pain, so maybe I could help.

He laughed. "No, no, no. No one's croaked. It's my dead-gum brother..."

Oh, God. Not the brother. Long story short: I'd rather get fired than talk about this, scared I'd say the wrong thing that _might_ imply that I take his brother's side when I'm really not, and then get canned. That's how sensitive this subject is. "Oh."

"You know what he calls me for?" Mr. John asked me the rhetorical question. I stay silent. If there's one thing I know, it's when to keep my mouth shut. As I predicted, the question was just a starting flag for his rant. "The bastard hasn't spoken to me or anyone else in the family for _twenty years_, and he calls me up out of the blue. Tries to make it sound like nothing had ever gone wrong, that we were just a pair of old buddies catching up. I could barely even _talk_ I was so damn pissed! So, while I'm sitting there with my chin touchin' the floor like a dumb ass, he starts explaining to me all of this shit about how he wants me to take in his daughter for a while, some kind of discipline crap... I couldn't believe it! That idiot calls me like nothing ever happened and asks me _a favor_? Who does he think is?

"Ever since he moved to LA to 'get out of this hillbilly hell'—that is a direct quote from his stuck-up ass—he has refused to have any contact with any of us 'poor people'. How do you think I felt? My own brother not even speaking to me? Momma was heartbroken... he's such a piece of pig shit. We didn't know if he was dead or alive... then he got to be a 'household name'. Freaking record producer. Can you believe that? He leaves us like we're trash, then goes off to California and never communicates with us whether he's okay or not, then a few years later we hear about him on the radio. The _freakin' radio_! We can't get a phone call, nothing. Now, he wants something from me for the first time in twenty years, and he expects me to just accept with arms wide open?

"Well, I'll tell you something else! He's apparently gotten a wife, has had a kid, and lives in a _five million dollar mansion _with a nanny! A _nanny_! I'd at least thought he'd be the kind of assertive dad, the one that wanted to raise his own child. God, poor kid. Probably only speaks Spanish because of that freaking nanny." I could barely keep up with this speech. "He has the NERVE to call me! BASTARD! He doesn't _deserve _to have a family, a wife, a kid! And a daughter, no less! She's probably messed up because of him..."

"Um," I cut in hesitantly, feeling _so freaking_ awkward right now, "that's horrible, Mr. John. I'm sure my dad didn't take it personally, and I didn't, either. But, uh, if you don't mind me askin'..." the look he gave me was lethal "... what does this got to do with me?"

For the first time in what felt like an hour, a smile cracked across his face.

"Well, you see, Chad," he said smoothly, like he was trying to sell something, "my niece needs to be watched. She's... not exactly a saint. Being sent down here is my bastard brother's idea of the most torturous punishment there is, apparently, so she needs to get her hands dirty. See how reality works." He rolled his eyes at me. "I know my brother, and he never does anything half-assed. That means that if she's spoiled, she's _spoiled_. It's probably gotten so bad that she believes that she craps gold."

I swallowed. "She'll... need to be watched?" I repeated. Great, now I've got to work in the God's-making-fun-of-me sun all day, worry about whether I can earn enough money to go back to school, _and_ babysit some spoiled kid! Hell no, I'm not doing it! "I'd be glad to."

"Great." _God, _I'm such a pushover. I think another way that God laughs at me is by making me a pushover. I almost can't say no. "Lord knows why I said I'd help... I guess because I want to meet my niece... or because somewhere deep down, I guess it'll give me some line of communication between me and my brother. BUT, the point is, you'll do it?"

No. I can't do this. I can't waste my time with this. "Sure, Mr. John."

"Here's what the job will involve," he grinned, apparently thrilled that he didn't have to be bothered with looking out for the 'little brat'—a quote from him. "She'll stay with you, eat with you, follow you around and see what you do every day. The point of this is for her to learn how to work and get her hands dirty, and she'll be getting here around gator season, so I want you to... ya know... take her under your wing. Show her the ropes. Then, when she's got it down, let her help you and actually _do_ the job."

Wait... he's gonna let some little kid handle full-grown alligators? Well... I started at a pretty young age, too, I guess. I dropped that question. "So, I have to tote her around everywhere I go?" I couldn't even _begin_ to get the bitter tone out of my voice. This caught his attention.

"Oh, Chad," he smiled, "I left out the most important part. You're getting paid for this."

I almost did a double-take. "Uh. W-what?"

"Sixty a day. If you're okay with that. I know it seems like a little much," he winked, "but I think that in a few months... that should add enough for you to go back to LSU for your sophomore year, am I right?"

I almost couldn't speak. What I'd thought was a curse at first that would make it even harder for me to get the money together, in the end, could be my ticket back to school. This was unbelievable. This was great! All 'cuz all I have to do is look after his niece for a few months. _Sixty a day_! Could it get any better than this? "Mr. J-John... I—I... thank you. Thank you so much, sir—"

"None of that 'sir' crap," he shook his head. "Makes me feel old. And anytime, kid."

"What time is she getting here?" I couldn't ask fast enough. Faster I get the money, the better.

"In a couple of days," he told me, messaging his temples. I noticed that he had his gold rings on. "You might think that sixty is a good deal... but from what I've heard, you'll be _working_ for that money. Hard. Trust me."

I didn't think his comment through too much. All I know is that I walked out of that office with a huge smile on my face. All I know is that I'm goin' back to college, baby! The sun suddenly felt like less of a pain, and more of a shining reminder in the sky of why I was so happy. Does that make any sense? Well, I had no problem getting to work today, working with precision and with speed. The faster I went, the faster the world around me went, and the closer I was to that money. So, I'd have to lug a bratty kid around for a while? I'm getting paid sixty bucks a day! What could go wrong?


	2. Chapter 2

** CONSUELA**

"You just have been slacking _terribly_, Consuela," Madre Chupando la Sangre said, scrolling through that teléfono that she _never_ puts down. I was stirring mi precioso de la pequeña niña casero zumo de naranja when she started yelling at me again.

_Ay!_ I reminded myself. _You need to... think in English more! You need to get better... at this!_

Madre Chupando la Sangre means Blood-Sucking Mom. I, sometimes, do think that she actually feeds off of the happiness of others. Mrs. Munroe is a cold woman. Muy horrible: very horrible. She does not even talk to her own daughter except for when she is in a lot of trouble. Being a nanny, you see many places like this. A case where los padres do not pay any attention the the kids, only their business and their looks. It makes my heart break inside. I have to give as much support as I can to their poor daughter.

"Si, Mrs. Munroe," I tell her, still stirring the homemade orange juice. I keep my eyes on the breakfast I am making for my precious child, pretending to be picking over it when really, I just don't want to look at the woman.

"You obviously just have _not_ been teaching her the right morals, or at least not well enough," she continued to rant. She was looking at her pager now. "I have to work _all of the time_, Consuela—" (because she chooses to) "—and I can't be around as much as I'd like to be. That's why we have _you_, so you can still look after her and teach her the right things about life. And, _ugh_, God forbid, one of those things isn't _getting a tattoo_!"

I didn't want to, but I had to somewhat agree. You see, their daughter came in a few nights ago with a small tattoo on her, uh, um... well, she got a tattoo. It obviously was just a desperate cry for attention, but her parents are not smart enough to pick that up, of course. Her first instinct wasn't to tell them, but unfortunately, it got infected. Madre Chupando la Sangre walked in while I was helping her put medicine on it... and let's just say... things did _not_ go well.

"Si, Mrs. Munroe," I say again, adjusting a fork to where it was perfectly straight on the silver tray.

"Speak _English_, for God's sake, Conseula! You've been working for us for eighteen years now. You should be able to speak without confusing me."

"Si—_yes_, Mrs. Munroe," I gritted my teeth, sprinkling some sugar and cinnamon onto the butter on top of my baby girl's toast. She likes it that way. Neither of her parents know that, though. My heart ached. I was completely done with the food. I had no choice but to look up at the terrible woman and force an obedient smile. "I will... speak with her."

She just shook her head, pushing some buttons on her ear piece behind her dark hair. "I just can't believe she did that. A _tattoo_! It's so... trashy! She knows how we feel about things like that. We let her stay out past curfew—" (she doesn't really have one) "—we let her use our credit cards and go shopping whenever she feels like—" (they let her use their cards _and_ hers) "—and _this_ is how she repays us? By getting a tattoo? Not only that, but she got it on her—"

"Mrs. Munroe, if you don't mind me saying," I cut in, trying the best, clearest English I could, "she does not feel proud of it. She told me just last night that... that it was stupid of her." I am making all of this up. Sounds good, eh?

"Did she now?" she asked me, her dark brown eyes drilling into my light brown ones. "Well, good. She must have _some_ sense somewhere, then."

This woman is such a... a—how do you say?—bitch! Talking about her own daughter that way! Children are a gift, a treasure, meant to be loved. Apparently, Madre Chupando la Sagre did not get the memo.

"Yes, Mrs. Munroe," I said like a mindless servant.

She watched me expectantly for a moment or two. I stared back, unsure of what she wanted. "Well, _go_!" she said obviously, shooing me out of the kitchen and towards the stairs. "Don't let the food get cold!"

I was pretty sure that I tasted blood in my mouth, I was biting my tongue so hard. I stepped up the _many, many_ steps and shuffled down the grand hallway, going past my nice headquarters and into my precious child's room. The flawless white carpet was blinding in the sunlight pouring from the huge window. She was lying in her bed, eyes halfway closed, watching the big TV on her wall. Her eyes wandered to me, and lit up immediately. She looked exhausted. Her mother had been up here only a few hours before, chewing her ear out _again_. She looked relieved that it was me and not someone else coming into her bedroom.

"Hola, Consuela," she smiled, sitting up straighter at the sight of the tray of food in my arms.

"Hola, bonita," I grinned back, almost in an apologetic way. I hate not being able to stand up to her mother when she puts her down like that. But Mrs. Munroe is my boss, and if I am an inch out of line, I will get fired. And my pretty girl can't survive without me here. I am her lifeline. I make sure that every time I see her, I call her bonita; Spanish for beautiful, because she is. It is a shame she carries on the way she does... she is such a beautiful person.

She looked behind me, brows raised. "Mom isn't behind you, is she?"

I shook my head. "No, she is not. I think she maybe went to work."

A look of relief washed over her features. "Thank God. I will go insane if she comes in here to scream at me one more time."

"Si, beautiful," I agree, taking a seat on the bed beside her, watching her eat her toast hungrily. "She was just giving me a speech downstairs a few minutes ago."

My beautiful girl frowned and stopped chewing, staring unseeingly at the television. "I know. I heard."

I scowled, too. The house is so big, everything echoes. "Lo siento. I know why you did it, though. Got the tattoo."

Her brows raised at me. "Do you?"

"Yes. You wanted your parents to notice you."

She shook her head, eyes wide. "Oh _no_, Consuela. That's not even close. If I wanted them to _know_ that I got a tattoo, I would have told them. I know you won't believe me, but I really just did it... ya know, to do it. I _wanted_ a tattoo. All of my friends thought that it was a good idea."

I shook my head. She was such a smart chica... but sometimes she didn't do smart _things_. "But a _tattoo_, bonita? A _tattoo_?"

"I never planned on my parents seeing it! That's one reason I got it on my—"

"Knock knock!" came a drawling voice from the doorway. I pursed my lips while my back was turned to my employer, but as soon as my face came into view, I politely smiled. "Hello, you two. Enjoying your breakfast, sweetheart?"

My darling girl struggled to keep the shocked expression off of her face at the nickname. That would be the first time her mother had ever said that word to her, and not sarcastically. She just nodded, keeping her eyes on her plate. I could see her face transforming to a stony stolid the longer her madre was in the room. See, this is one of her worst problems. Everyone seems to believe that she is spoiled from the inside out (which she slightly is), but the issue here is her parents, not her. They aren't being parents, and she acts out for attention, whether she admits it or not. It is not that hard to see.

"Didn't get to yell at me enough this morning?" she nipped, almost to herself, taking another bite of toast. I could tell that her mother's temper was shorter than usual today... and that's saying something.

"Allison Munroe, don't even _start_ with me," she seethed through a whisper, shaking a manicured finger at her, eyes shut tight. I noticed that she had far too much eye makeup on for someone her age. Again. "I just wanted to talk with you. Don't get fresh with me."

Allison rolled her eyes. "'Fresh'? Really, Mom?"

"Do you want to hear what the doctor had to say or not?" she exploded. I'm surprised that she wasn't stomping her foot. My little girl just responded by rolling her eyes and huffing, taking a swig of her orange juice. Suddenly, my boss's head snapped in my direction. Almost like a horror movie. "Consuela, dear, would you mind stepping out for a moment? I need to have a word with my daughter."

I nodded hastily and rose from Allison's bed, making to walk out of the room with my head down. I hated the way that Mrs. Munroe talked about Allison. She said 'my daughter' in a very possessive way, like I was planning on stealing her away in the night. Just at the door, I turned my head to face my little chica. Her eyes were pleading, saying 'do not leave alone with her!'. I shook my head and my eyes apologized as I backed out of the room. I acted like I was shutting the door behind me, but I left it open just a crack. I pasted myself against the hallway wall directly to the right, ears keen for their conversation.

I heard the squeaking of what sounded like bed springs. I took it that Mrs. Munroe had sat down on the bed.

"The doctor says that the infection is gone. Isn't that lovely? Now, Allison, your father and I have been talking..." she trailed off, her voice a little muffled. I could tell that she was looking down at her phone or her pager. She looked back up, "... and we don't think that the way you have been behaving lately has been appropriate."

"Oh, really?" she shot back, snapping. "You two don't deem it 'okay'? Here's how thing _have been_ working and are going to _keep_ working, alright, Mom? I'm going to leave the house when I want, wear whatever I want, go out with _whomever_ I want, and get back whenever I want. You two never seemed to care what I do or who I did it with until you caught me the other day."

"_Allison_," she breathed, and I could see her bury her face in her hands through the crack in the door, "you are _killing_ me. Whether you like it or not, I am your mother, and you have to listen to me!" My little girl opened her mouth to say something, but was cut off. "_No_, I don't want to hear it! Your father and I have been far too lenient with you, and... and... you are turning into some... _tattooed brat_! I will not have it in my house!"

"Well, it's not like we can just go and get it removed!" she screamed back. "It just got over being infected! And you know that if you had to take off work to take me to the doctor to get it removed, all of your friends would be asking questions, wouldn't they?" She found her weak spot. "And you just _can't_ have your friends knowing that you have a _tattooed, white trash_ daughter, now can you?"

"ALLISON MUNROE!" she gasped. "Don't you _dare_ call yourself white trash. You are a Munroe. And no, we aren't getting it removed. You shouldn't be wearing anything that would reveal it, anyway. And I _want_ you to have to see it, to live with it every day. Knowing that you got a tattoo and are being looked down upon should be enough punishment for you as it is. We are not wasting another dime on that thing, and tattoo removals are painful."

She rose her eyebrows rudely, arms crossed. "So? Is that all you wanted to tell me? That all I have to do is keep it, and that's my punishment?"

Her mother looked down at her phone again, and I wanted to growl. I wish she would have the decency to look at her own daughter when they have a conversation. Her voice was sickeningly sweet. "Oh, no, honeybunch. That's not your punishment." She closed her phone and looked upon her with shining eyes. "You, from now on, must be home by ten o'clock every night. Including Fridays."

"But Mom—!"

"And you cannot use your credit card or our credit cards anymore. If you use any kind of payment, it has to be cash, and it has to be money that you've _earned_."

"_What_? No credit card? Mom, it's just a stupid tattoo!" she whined.

"You will also be helping Consuela with chores until the day you leave."

I must admit, that one actually wasn't too horrible. I'm not opposed to getting some help around here. After all, this casa is _huge_. After I got over of the initial shock of Allison helping me with _housework_, what she really said didn't seem to sink in for me or mi bonita chica until a few seconds later.

"Wait—_leave_?" Allison's chocolate eyes flashed with confusion. "Leave for _where_? You aren't sending me off to boarding school or anything because of a stupid picture on my—?"

"_No_, we can't pull you out of college," she shook her head. She almost sounded disappointed. "But you _are_ going somewhere that I think will set you straight." They were both silent and Allison's stare was unbelievably stifling.

"Well?"

"You are going to stay with your uncle," Mrs. Munroe smirked.

Sonny looked less angry and more confused. So was I. I didn't even know that she had an uncle. Apparently, she was thinking the same thing.

"Uncle?" her brows pulled together. "You only have a sister, and she isn't married."

"It's your father's brother," she said dismissively, and by her tone, I could already tell that she didn't approve of him.

"Dad has a brother?"

"Yes, he does."

"Well, why haven't I heard of him until now?"

"He lives far away," Mrs. Munroe lied, and I think both of us picked up on it. "He lives where your father came from... where he left as soon as he turned seventeen."

"Where does he live, exactly?"

My little girl could detect the underlying meaning in this. If they were sending her there as punishment, it wasn't any kind of retreat.

"Galliano, Louisiana," she smiled. "You'll be staying down there with them for a few months... ya know, learning how to work. _Someone_ needs to learn the value of money and the correct things to spend it on—such as, whatever _isn't_ a tattoo."

"I have to _work_?" Allison's eyes were wide. "Like... work-work?"

"Work-work," she smiled. "And not just any kind of work. The hard, _sweaty_, gritty kind. You should come back with a skill that few—or no one—in this city should possess: being able to shoot and kill a full-grown alligator!"

It was almost like my chica and I shared a mind. We both nearly collapsed, gasping. I quickly clamped my hand over my mouth, hoping against hope that I wasn't heard. But I think that Mrs. Munroe was so busy enjoying her daughter's reaction that she wasn't concerned about anything outside of that. I almost coughed. Were we talking about the same chica here? _Allison Munroe_? Who has never, in her whole life, touched a grain of dirt... never made mud pies when she was little... never gotten a job or had to touch a mop? And she was expected to go _hunt alligators_? She'd kill herself!

"W-what? WHAT? You mean... like, old cabins and Cajuns and that can't speak English and bayous and hillbilly rednecks?" she erupted, practically banging her fists on her bed. "With... with _bugs_ and gross weather and _dirt_? Mom, they probably don't even have _showers_!"

Now, see, this is the bad side of mi bonita chica. This is what her parents instilled in her. "Honey, you should have thought of all of that before you got that tattoo."

She was red in the face, looking like she was about to hit her madre across the head with that silver breakfast tray. She spluttered, unable to form intelligible words.

"I—I—_no one even told me I had a hillbilly uncle_! Or that if I got a stupid tattoo that I'd have to GO LIVE WITH HIM! Oh my God... I can't survive there, Mom! I _have_ to have a shower. And... and what am I supposed to wear? I can't wear _Gucci_ to go shoot a bunch of slimy lizards with!"

You see, I tune out at about this time. Whenever Allison gets on a rant, this is about the moment where I'll go dust the grand piano for about the eighth time or vacuum the priceless Persian rug in the foyer. So, that's what I did.

I know that many people would blame me, the nanny, for the misbehavior and bratty whining of an eighteen year-old girl right about now. I blame the parents, and they say, 'But you knew this would happen, you raised her! It is your job to make sure that she does not end up that way!'. But no one, unless you have been in my shoes, really understands. The child _knows_ that you are not their madre, and there is only so much that they can learn from you. There is only so much that you can teach them—that they will _let_ you teach them, before they go to their padres and try to learn.

As soon as Allison reached that stage, right about when she was seven, she became old enough to realize that something was wrong with the picture. It was just me, and she was seeing her friends at school with parents who came to their dance recitals, their soccer games... and my poor girl noticed. The rare times that her parents would come in at an hour when she could see them, it was such a sad sight. It wasn't even like they knew each other. The three were like complete strangers—two adults who were stuck babysitting a child that they didn't know.

When she got to the age of about eleven, she stopped clinging to me so much as a mother and started misbehaving. It wasn't anything bad really... but when something would go wrong at school, or she would smart-mouth the teacher, I'd always be the one who was home when the school called, and Allison would always beg me not to tell her parents. And I never would. I would still straighten her out, though... as much as I could.

And it's such a shame that when she got old enough, she started staying out late with her friends and spending money everywhere just because she could. Her parents weren't home enough to really notice that much, and since I was the one raising her and not them, they didn't really seem to care. As long as she didn't do something so horrible that 'the Munroe family name was disgraced', she was allowed to do whatever she pleased. She started taking advantage of her beauty and dating all kinds of guys. I'd know because whenever she had boy problems, I would be the one hearing about it, not her madre. I really hoped that she was still pure... and the deepest confines of my heart believed that she was... but I never know anymore.

She is a spitting image of her mother. Except she has her father's chin and height. She is such a gorgeous girl, with long and wavy brown hair, shining chocolate eyes, a beautiful Spanish body. I hated that she wore those... what are they called again?... _stiletto_ heels and those short skirts. It killed me inside. Allison had such a beautiful smile, too. So big and bright. When she was little, I told her that the sun couldn't outshine her smile. She would just smile bigger and hug me. Now, she'll mutter a 'thank you' and keep texting on her teléfono or keep buying clothes.

She would hate me for agreeing with her mother (and I can't believe that I am saying this, either), but I think that she needs this. Not just because of the tattoo, but to save her. Before she is an adult and turns into her mother—which I know is exactly what she is trying to get away from. This may be the bitter dose of medicine that she needs.

There are many things that can't be taught by a nanny; they must be taught by the madre. And there are many things that can't be taught by the madre, but must be taught by _life_.

I think this Louisiana may be life's lesson that she needs.

Or... it could do nada and just make her more resentful towards her parents and make her act up even _more_.

I guess we'll see, eh?


	3. Chapter 3

**C H A D**

The wet and warm wind swept against my face as I sped forward on the bayou's waters. I looked down at the shining white motorboat, proud. It looked fantastic. Who knew, Mr. John actually _was_ right, it did need to be repainted. It helps to seal the boat, too. Ya know, make it a little bit more crack-resistant. The sun was hot and bright today, but I didn't find myself hating it so much. The bayou actually looked... less _ugly_ today. The green moss and muddy water actually looked kind of... nice. And the trees weaving everywhere was really sort of... majestic. God, I sound like a girl.

You know what? It's just because I'm in such a great mood. Ya know, because Mr. John's niece is supposed to be getting here today. It's the first day I get paid. I can finally put some money into that college bank account. I was actually in such good spirits this morning, Buford was really freaked out when I met him at the water's bank with the boat. He asked me what was wrong, actually. I just said, 'Nothing could be wrong. I'm getting sixty extra bucks today!'. Then he got really jealous that Mr. John came to me and not to him. He's a year younger than me, so he's trying to get enough money to go there for his freshman year. I told him that it was only because he's such good friends with my dad. It wasn't anything personal.

Right now, Buford was driving the motorboat so we could scout out our hunting territory, just to get a feel of it and spot honey holes. There were plenty of sunny banks and grassy shallow areas—exactly the places where gators loved to hide. The sun shone on the water and made it almost golden, breaking through the leaves and falling like gold coins to the ground and swamp water. It is very seldom that the swamp actually looks _pretty_. I guess it was just sign from God that I was meant to take care of my boss's niece and make money to get an education.

"Hey, man, look over yonder!" Buford called to me, snapping me out of my daze and drawing my attention to a sunny shore to our right. "Look at that monster!"

My eyes almost couldn't believe our luck. We stopped the boat and stood there, staring at the monster beside the water. It stared back at us. It was looking at us, as if it was saying, 'You think you can get me? Whatever. I'd snap your heads off.' I had to agree. This thing looked like a fourteen footer, at least from where we were. I'm sure if we got closer, it'd look even bigger. His head looked big enough to take a chunk out of our newly-painted boat, it's back a never-ending road of bumps and scales. It's tale was like a boa... huge and muscular. Able to take you out with one swing. It was a dinosaur.

My blue eyes and Buford's green ones stared into it's charcoal ones, challenging. With a whip of it's huge tail and snap of it's huge jaws, the beast flung it's giant body into the water and disappeared. Buford's mouth was open wide, agape, when I turned to him what seemed like hours later. I didn't even _know_ that gators could _get_ that big! That was a mutant!

"Holy shit," I choked out, my breath short. Buford nodded his head of dark hair, looking completely taken off guard by the animal. "_Dude_..."

"We have to catch that," he finished for me, his fingers surely itching for a rifle... but gator season didn't start for weeks, and we'd risk putting the shop out of business. Not happening. "Chad, dude... DID YOU SEE THAT THING? It had to be... _at least_ a twelve-footer!"

"Looked more like fourteen to me," I shook my head disbelievingly, running a hand through my blonde hair. As Buford ran back to wheel, his chubby belly bounced.

"We HAVE to remember to set a line there tomorrow, dude," he breathed, still in total awe. So was I. "Our names will go down in history if we catch that thing."

"Could you believe that back in the twenties, alligators used to get to as big as nineteen feet?" I chuckled. "That was before hunters hunted them every year, so they never got killed and got HUGE."

"If I saw a nineteen-footer today, pretty sure I'd die right then and there," Buford laughed, turning sharply and making a curtain of muddy water spew around us. We sped back towards the direction from which we came, just noticing that it was about lunch time. That's the time that Mr. John's niece is supposed to be getting here, anyway.

"Ya know what I think we should call that thing?" I asked. "Big Daddy."

"That's what we called that ten-footer last year," he disagreed. "We need something new. That thing is a freakin' dinosaur."

It was tradition for us to name the huge gators we see and plan on catching. "How about... Godzilla?"

"That's _so unoriginal_."

"What do _you_ wanna call it then, smart ass?"

"Hmm..." he contemplated as he turned left, drawing nearer to the shore. "What about Grandaddy Long-Tail?"

"That's just a sucky name, man."

Suddenly, a blanket of water spread over us, crashing with a sickening splash. Buford stopped the boat immediately before we ran off onto the bank.

"What the hell?" my hunting partner cried angrily, wiping the muddy water from his eyes stiffly. I did the same, welling with confusion. That water came from no where! Where'd that come from? I flipped my now wet hair from my eyes, angry and confused. We were just riding along, almost back to land, and out of nowhere, a wave comes and soaks us.

Laughter coming from our right caught our attention. My head snapped to the noise, and my eyes narrowed. I should have known.

_Dylan_.

Dylan Reynolds. God, I hate him. Everyone does. Except for his partner, Langford, who is just as big of a moron, just even more stupid. The big oaf was laughing hard, Langford at the wheel of their boat. He seems to have worked out even _more_ since I've seen him last. Idiot. He'll die from steroid overdose before he's thirty. Always trying to impress the few girls that come around here. If they _were_ stupid enough to go out with the guy, it wasn't long before they ended it when they found out what an immature pervert he was.

He had an _obsession_ with winning everything and being the best at _everything_. He worked for the business, too. He and Langford were one of the gator hunting teams. He hated everyone else, just like everyone else hated him. For whatever reason, he especially despised me and Buford. And me. And did I mention me? This dude had a contract out to kill me or something. He refuses to be in the same room as me unless he has no choice. He loves to pull little pranks on me and Buford. Dylan and Langford try to beat us for the most and biggest gators every year, but they never do it.

"Hey, Cooper," he nodded in my direction. He flexed his arms and I rolled my eyes. "Have a nice little bath?"

"What's your freakin' problem, man?" I screamed, squeezing out my shirt. I stunk now and was dripping wet. Great, this will make a fantastic first impression with the little tyke I have to babysit for the next few months. Mr. John will hate that I show up to pick her up like this.

"My problem? I don't have a problem," he grinned. I wanted to punch that smirk right off of his ugly face. "The only problem I see here is how you two dumb asses always wind up getting the most gators every season. You must cheat. Have a hidden gator farm hidden somewhere that you just fish 'em from or something. I'll tell you one thing, Cooper. We _will_ beat you this year. You can count on that."

"Yeah, right," Buford spat into the water near their boat. "It's not like you've been saying that for the past four years or anything."

"Was I talkin' to you, Lefon?" he spat at my friend. "Nope, nope, don't think I was!"

Buford's wet fists balled at his side. "Oh, yeah, Reynolds? Well, it's gonna be awfully hard for you to win when we have a monster livin' in our territory."

I sent daggers in Buford's direction. What was wrong with him? He knew better than to say _anything_ to Dylan about _anything_ in our territory. I wouldn't put it past him to illegally come into our hunting ground and start trying to catch the monster.

His eyes glinted. "Oh, really?"

"Shut up!" I hissed at Buford. He quickly realized his mistake and cursed under his breath, turning and taking a seat back at the motor.

"How... _big_ would you say it is, exactly?" he asked me, arms crossed, looking down from his nose at me. "Ten? Eleven?"

"Oh, sure," I shrugged, smirking. "Sure. That's how big it is."

He detected my sarcasm, brows raised. "Bigger? Dang, how big?"

"I'll let you see just how big once it's dead in our boat," I snapped, smiling fakely at the bastard. Buford caught that as our cue to leave, sharply turning to cast a wave upon Dylan and Langford this time. As we sped away, we saw their soaked forms stomping and cursing, screaming at one another in aggravation. We laughed and I clapped my hunting bud on the back, grinning. Those idiots would never catch up with us.

We wouldn't let them.

We finally got to the bank, the hot sun evaporating the water from our skin and clothes. Sure, we were halfway dry by now, but that wouldn't get rid of the smell that only the bayou could give you. We pulled up to the shore and hauled the light boat to the trailer hitched on my Ford truck. I stomped to the driver's side and Buford climbed into the passenger's. We just sat there for a second, thinking the same thing.

_Dylan should go screw himself._

We smelled like dog shit. No joke. The little girl will probably get a _great_ impression of Louisiana. NOT.

We drove in silence, too angry to speak. God, Dylan and Langford are such idiotic bastards. Just... just... argh! I can't even think of enough words to describe how _horrible_ they are! The devil himself would probably kick them out of Hell for being such morons. Totally serious.

"Do you think we have time to go get cleaned up?" I asked as we drew nearer to the main building.

"No," Buford muttered bitterly. "I've got to go get my paycheck from John _now_. Mom wants me home so I can help her with supper. You know how she gets when I'm late."

Oh, did I. Mrs. Lefon could be scary when she wanted to be. A large woman, a smoker. Not small and sweet like my mom used to be. Not at all.

"Alright, man," I sighed, parking in the gravel parking lot. The large building towered over us, as if looking down at us because of our smell. We were muddy, too. I continued as we climbed out of the truck. My seats were wet and smelly now. Awesome. "I'll go drive the boat to the back and come back and see if his niece is here yet. Come back out and tell me if he's in a good mood. If not, I'll need to go home and shower."

Mr. John hated it when you came in his big office all nasty. It's like someone coming into your house and pouring red wine all over your white carpet. He took it as rude. Gross. Bad representation. I couldn't disagree.

"Okay, dude. Hurry."

I hopped into my now-stinky truck and pulled around to the back of the building, unhitching the trailer and positioning it next to a few of the other team's boats that hadn't been moved since last gator season. I hastily drove my red Ford around the the front and parked, waiting for Buford to come back out and give me the news. If Mr. John was in a good mood, he wouldn't be too upset about my appearance. I didn't look too bad... just my smell was _not_ pleasant. Really gross, actually.

Buford came bounding out of the door, red-faced and fat bouncing. He ran up to my door and banged on the window, looking like he was about to have a seizure. I rolled the window down as soon as I could, panicking.

"Dude, what's wrong?" I demanded.

"Nothing's wrong!" he grinned, banging his fist against my door in glee.

"Is his niece here yet? Is he in a good mood?" I spat questions at him almost so fast that they weren't understandable.

"I don't know if his niece is here yet, dude. But I really don't care right now," the words tumbled from his mouth. "The important thing is, I got my check, and there's a _smoking hot girl_ in there!"

My brows rose. Girls, especially hot ones, were a rare thing around these parts. All we really saw here were men buying equipment with their sons, and the occasional little girl. Old Cajuns that live in the middle of the swampy woods would come out every now and then to get a new gun or more bullets or something... but never girls. I can think of _one time_ in all the years I've worked here where a pretty girl came in. And she was borderline nice-looking. It just seemed like all of the hot girls had migrated to LSU, then disappeared during the summer.

Then again, me and Buford's ideas of 'smoking hot' were a little different. He seemed to hear my thoughts.

"I'm not kidding, Chad. She is... holy shit," he shook his head. "You've got to see her. Who knows when we'll have someone like _her_ around here again."

"Is Mr. John in a good mood?" I asked for what felt like the hundredth time, not moving from my spot. I needed to know.

"Well, I don't know! The sexy girl was talking with him when I came in... well, sort of yelling, actually. But besides that, sure. Why not?"

I rolled my eyes. That helped me none. I opened the door and shook my head as Buford climbed in his car and took off towards his house, winking at me. Before he climbed in, he chuckled. "Go get her, big boy."

I flipped him off in a joking way, and he laughed. I took a deep breath and approached the entry door. I looked at my reflection in the glass door, my hand on the handle. I didn't look _that_ bad... just like I'd been out working. Thin sleeveless t-shirt and jeans and boots... my arms were slick. Maybe the girl would like the sweaty look. She's probably not even that pretty. It's just like someone who's starving saying that a loaf of bread looks like a delicious meal. We're just so female-deprived around here, if _anyone_ who's a girl walks in the door, Buford is drooling. It's ridiculous.

I fixed my hair to the best of my ability, until it just looked a little messy, and flexed my arms in the glass. I couldn't help but smile. I was getting about as big as Dylan... and _without_ the steroids. That gave me a smug boost of confidence. Besides smelling like a cow's ass, I looked pretty good. I shook my head and remembered to climb off of my high horse. I took a deep breath and opened the door, walking into the familiar shop. Guns of all kinds lined the walls inside shiny glass cases. Nets and sprays and hooks and fishing poles and _anything_ you could think of were on light wooden shelves. Baits lined the wall behind the check out counter, neat and colorful. A chandelier made from deer antlers hung from the high ceiling. The man who was always on duty right about around lunch smiled at me from behind the cash register.

"Nice-lookin' lady back there," he pointed towards Mr. John's office. I rose my brows.

"Really? Is she nice-looking because we haven't seen a girl in the last year, or is she _actually_ nice-looking?"

"Good God, she's _hot_," he almost interrupted me. "Looks about your age. Four words, kid: don't screw it up."

My curiosity was suddenly peaked. That's _two_ guys saying how incredibly 'hot' this girl was. There had to be some truth to it, then. As I walked back towards the door that read_ John Munroe_, my nerves were increasing. As my hand landed on the knob, I shook my thoughts. I needed to focus on getting my pay check for the day and asking when his niece would be getting here. _That_ should be my focus, not some girl. I don't have time for girls. I've got to earn my college tuition.

I turned the knob and peered in, Mr. John at his desk and looking very stressed. He was wearing a suit today, which was very odd for work. I guess he just wants to make a good impression—which I will not. His eyes swirled to me and took me and my shitty smell in, brows pulling together.

"Speak of the devil... here he, uh, is right now," he mumbled, running a hand through his gelled hair. "Chad, why—_what_ happened?"

I sighed and gave him a sparing look, shrugging my shoulders. "Dylan."

Mr. John nodded and immediately understood, shaking his head. He knew _all about_ the Dylan/Langford issue. He refused to fire them, though, because he thought the competition was 'healthy' and made us all work even harder for more gators. Which, I guess, it technically did, but if Dylan was to suddenly get fired, no one would be upset. Including Mr. John.

"Well, um," he sighed disappointedly, turning to the girl in the chair in front of his desk, "I'm mighty sorry, Allison. He doesn't normally... um... well, he's usually _cleaner_ than this."

The girl who I just noticed turned to look at me, brows raised. My heart rate sped up to _definitely not_ a doctor-recommended pace at the sight of her.

Holy shit.

Well... Buford and the guy out front weren't bluffing.

Her thick brown hair was long and wavy, flawless, extensions going down to about her waist. Her eyes were chocolate and big, covered by heavy lashes. Her body... good God, it was curvy. The fact that she had on a skirt and heels didn't help to keep me from staring, either. I just noticed a long feather earring that was in one of her ears, falling to her chest. Full lips. Smokey eyes. Good God. I hope she moved here or something. I'd be _more than happy _to show her around.

Just then, I took in her clothes. They looked expensive. She definitely wasn't from around here. And the way she was looking at me implied that my smell really was as bad as I thought it was. Or worse.

I quickly flashed a smile, very happy that my teeth were really white today. I pulled out the Southern charm, the one I know that charmed the girls at LSU.

"Miss," I smiled, nodding my head, very polite, yet I knew that she caught the glint in my eye.

She didn't answer, just watched me like I was the most interesting thing she'd ever seen. Like she was watching some climax to a movie or something. I don't know how to explain it... but it somehow had a demeaning nature to it, though. Like I was some cute little animal she was watching on Animal Planet or something.

A little awkwardly, I turned back to my boss with my hands in my jean pockets. "I just came by to get my check, sir," I told him, rocking back on the heels of my feet. He didn't object to me calling him 'sir' today. Weird.

He opened up a drawer in his desk and took what felt like _forever_ going through it, trying to find my paycheck. It felt like an eternity. I was trying not to look at the girl, knowing I'd have trouble looking away, and plus... she was still staring at me in that curious way. And it was kind of... I don't know... freaking me out or something.

"Here ya go, Chad," he smiled, finally leaning back to his full height (which wasn't that much) and handing me my check.

"Do you have any idea when your niece is getting here, Mr. John?" I asked, crossing my arms as a distraction for myself. I could see from my peripheral vision that her eyes snapped to my arms and studied them, her expression becoming a little less... demeaning, I guess. I wouldn't call it impressed... but she certainly stared. And I tried not to smirk because it wasn't polite.

"Uh, actually, Chad," Mr. John chuckled uncomfortably, "meet my niece, Allison Munroe."

When his arm motioned to the hot girl in the room with me, I had to do a double-take. My eyes raked from his arm to the person he was pointing to disbelievingly. But... but—I... I thought that she was going to be some kid!

Whoa whoa whoa!

_What_ the _hell_?

He means... THAT'S his niece?

I've got to drive around, watch, spend _every_ second of my day with... with _her_? _She_ is going to be living in _my house_ with me?

I really don't know whether to be happy or not about this. I mean, sure, the hormonal teenage guy in me is doing fist-pumps right now... but the part of me who wants money for college is stumped. She is going to be a distraction... and that might get in the way of my job. After all, this is a _job_, not a dating service... and I have a feeling that I would be in some hot water with Mr. John if I started seeing his niece.

But as my eyes landed on her, and my heart got fast again, I started shaking my head and laughing really uncomfortably. "Oh." I pointed weakly at her. "Th-th-that's her? She—I—I thought... I thought she was going to be, uh..." My sentence was lost. I looked at her and smiled feebly. "I thought that you, uh... were _a lot_ younger."

She still didn't say anything, just smirked slightly and rose an eyebrow.

"Is that a problem, Chad?" my boss asked me, watching me expectantly, almost daringly. I stuttered... my words fumbled out clumsily. I really only had one thing on my mind; one thing that I'm sure Mr. John hadn't thought through.

"Oh, uh, no, sir," I said quickly. "It's just, um... you said that she'd be staying with me... and I didn't know that she was, uh..." I couldn't finish.

He nodded, laughing. "Oh, Chad! Don't worry about that! I asked _you_ to do it for a reason. You're about the only honest gentleman around here who would be _least_ likely to, uh... _take advantage_ of the fact that you two will be living in the same house together. I'd trust you a lot more than say... Dylan."

I understood his point, but did he trust me that much? _I_ don't even know if I trust me that much. I mean, seriously, has he _looked_ at her? Lord help me now! I melted on myself inwardly. I felt like a confused, nervous, partly-I-think-excited puddle. I sighed.

"Yes, sir," I muttered, keeping my eyes away from his niece. _His freaking niece_!

"Now, Allison, I know that you don't want to be here," he told her cautiously, as if she was a ticking bomb that would detonate if he said the wrong thing or if his voice was too loud, "but you're okay with all of this, right?" She opened her mouth to speak, but he quickly corrected himself. "Well, I know that you're _not_ 'okay' with it, but Chad will be keeping an eye on you. And... and... I guess what I'm trying to ask is... are you comfortable with him?"

I'm pretty sure that I melted a little more when her eyes snapped to me, raking me from my face to my feet and back again. She took a deep breath, as if she had to think about it, but I could tell that she really wasn't. I couldn't say the same for Mr. John. He was leaned forward with hands clasped together (gold rings and all), as if her words determined whether the world ended or not.

"Yeah," she muttered, looking down at her cell phone as soon as she said it. Classy.

He grinned. "Great. Now, Chad, take her and her things to your truck and go out to your house so she can get settled in. You two can start work tomorrow."

I noticed the second the word 'work' was said, she slumped and rolled her eyes. I finally found something unattractive about her: she's got an attitude. Good. I find girls with attitudes really unattractive, so if I just focus on that instead of her looks, then I can keep myself in check. Awesome.

I bit the inside of my cheek when she stood up, giving me a full view of her... well, everything now. I tore my eyes from her and to the door, opening it for her and watching her walk through without a word. I made to walk out behind her and close the door, but Mr. John stopped me.

"Chad," he called.

I backed up enough so I could see him from behind the door. "Yes, sir?"

He gave me an almost annoyed glance, a little warning. "Keep your eyes on her _face_, not anywhere else."

My eyes shot to the floor and I nodded profusely, embarrassed that he noticed. "Yes, sir."

I closed the door behind me, following her towards the exit door. I struggled to keep my eyes ahead of us and not on her... well, she's wearing a tight skirt. I'm a college guy. It's her fault for wearing stuff like that around here; around all of these women-deprived men. She'll learn soon enough. God, I just can't let Dylan spot her in that... or spot her at all, really. He'll be all over her, and I don't just meant that figuratively.

The guy at the register winked at me and gave me a thumbs up as we walked passed, and I rolled my eyes. Thinking like that would just get her creeped out and me fired.

"So, uh, this is my truck," I tried to smile, knowing from the fact that she lived in a mansion that she's probably ridden in much nicer than this. "I know it's not much... but, uh, it gets the job done."

She walked to the passenger side and opened the door, instantly grimacing and holding her nose as soon as the breeze began to blow. I was strapped in by then, one hand on the wheel, watching her.

"Um," she shook her head, looking at me as if I was growing a second head, "you expect me to ride in _this_? Sorry... I can't ride in this." She was shaking her head now. "It smells like dog shit and the seat is wet."

"I'm going to clean it when we get to my house," I told her, standing up for my truck. I love this thing. I wasn't really thrilled about her throwing insults at it. Sure, I said earlier that it smelled like cow shit, but _I_ can. It's _my _truck! "And it's just because we got some swamp water on us earlier." I looked in the back seat desperately, trying to find a clean towel. I usually had one, since I always sweated like crazy when I worked. I found one, thank God. I think she would have stayed here all night if I hadn't. I lied it down on the seat. "There," I smiled. "Problem solved."

"Problem _not_ solved," she informed me a little snappily. "The smell will get on my clothes, and I don't know if that will wash out. Do you have washing machines here?"

Oh.

So she's _that_ kind.

I was instantly less distracted by her appearance and now aggravated.

"_Yes_, we do," I grinned tightly, sarcastic. "We have _electricity_, too."

She sighed and draped a hand over her chest. "Oh, thank God!"

The sad part is that she was completely serious.

My grip tightened on the steering wheel. She was kind of insulting me here. "We can put your stuff in the washer when we get to my place. It's no big deal. But really, my dad is cooking supper. We need to hurry and get home."

She looked at me like I was insane. I returned it.

"I'm _not_ riding in this."

I struggled to stay polite. "Well, you have to get to my place somehow. It's either the seat, or you can ride in the trunk," I smirked, pointing behind me. She glanced at it like it would eat her alive. "I don't know about you, but _I'd_ prefer the seat. With the air conditioning."

I had her at 'air conditioning'. Just the thought of her hair frizzing scared her half to death, I guess. She hopped on top of the towel, careful not to touch anything else, nose wrinkled. I rolled my eyes and cranked the truck, pulling out of the parking lot and taking an old country road. She was staring around like she'd never seen anything like it.

"It's... all _trees_," she said, almost sounding disgusted. "Where are all of the stores and businesses and stuff? Any skyscrapers?"

I scoffed. She was so naïve when it came to Louisiana, wasn't she? I guess she grew up thinking that everywhere was as glamorous as California. "No skyscrapers. And all of the businesses are out over by the main highway. There ain't even that many."

Her eyes were wide. "Oh my God. No shopping?"

"Nope," I shook my head, laughing as she screamed when a deer walked out in front of us. I gently hit my breaks and waited for it to pass. "Not really. If you want to buy clothes, you'll have to drive over to New Orleans."

She whined, and buried her face in her hands. "This is gonna _suck_!"

"No, it won't," I tried to encourage her. "Work's really not that bad, I promise." I'm totally lying. "It's just the weather that sucks sometimes."

"_Please_ tell me that you have showers," she begged, eyes as wide as supper plates. Now _that_ offended me. Did she _really_ think that lowly of us?

"Uh, _yeah_, we do," I said in the same demeaning tone that she used on me. "We have TVs, too. And dishwashers. And ovens. Anything else you want to make sure that we Southern hicks have?"

She looked a little sour at the fact that I wasn't being a total pushover. "You have soap, right?"

I think she just asked that out of spite. I bit my tongue before I said something to her that wasn't appropriate to say to a woman. As we pulled up to my home, I ignored the looks and gasps and small comments that she made about it. I'm sure that it was only a quarter of the size of what she was used to, but she would have to live with it.

This was going to be _a long_ couple of months, I can tell you that right now.


	4. Chapter 4

**ALLISON**

...

List of things I hate about this Hillbilly Hell:

1) Too many bugs.

2) Too hot.

3) Too _humid_.

4) Too... GROSS.

5) Too many southern hicks.

6) Too many animals.

7) Not enough restaurants.

8) Not enough nice places to live.

9) Not enough shopping.

10) IT'S NOT CALIFORNIA!

Is it possible to die from being totally and completely grossed out? Okay, look, it's _got_ to be. I'm having so many mild heart attacks and strokes right now that it's not even funny. I'd say that I should see a doctor, but who knows if they even have those down here. If they do, it's probably one of those old Cajun witchdoctors or something. They would probably tell me to bathe in the swamp and stick a chicken up my ass as an antibiotic. I honestly wouldn't be surprised.

On the flight here, I was basically crying in my first class cabin. Hello, who _wouldn't_ be? My parents sent me off to No-Man's Land for months with a deranged uncle that I've never met, a bunch of sweaty hillbillies, and I have to _hunt alligators_. When I was told that killing alligators would be a part of the job requirement, I knew what had happened immediately. My parents have finally gone insane; lost it; nothing but air up there. What else could it be?

I got in an SUV that Uncle (Josh? John? I don't remember) sent to pick me up as soon as I got off of the plane. I was in the car for I have no idea how long... I was just too miserable to count the seconds. It all felt like a blur. A horrible, ugly, wet, hot, swampy blur. I was nearly asleep by the time I climbed out of the car and met my 'uncle' outside. He shook my hand awkwardly, this big smile pasted on his face that was just downright _creepy_, and led me inside. I took one look around, and I knew that it had to be a lie.

There was _no way_ that this man was my father's brother.

Camouflage, skins, and antlers everywhere? My dad would faint and die right here on the floor! I know that I wanted to. Everything smelled funny—stunk, really—and all of the workers were looking at me like they've never seen a girl before. Even the guys that looked old enough to be my dad. Can you say _ew_? I guess I can't blame them, though. They probably don't have any real women around here. I was probably a walking culture shock to their deprived minds.

I sat in the office for what seemed like forever, and then some chubby guy that looked like he was still in high school came in the office and saw me. I was in the middle of releasing all of my built-up steam on my 'uncle', so I refused to stop my completely well-deserved right to complain. He just stared at me like I sprouted wings and had a halo, then grabbed a check and rushed out as if he had somewhere to be. Probably to go fish for squirrels or something.

My screaming finally came to an end, and my 'uncle' was just sitting at his desk, a little pale, trying to smile at me but he was failing. Then he started stuttering about some stupid babysitter that I was supposed to have and meet. _That_ pissed me off. A lot. I'm a grown woman! I'm in college! I don't need a _babysitter_ to look after me! I don't care what my parents said about me, it's not true. It's not true! None of it is!

"His name is Chad," he tried to grin at me. He looked like a stressed out, nervous wreck. "He's—he's really a great guy. Complete gentleman. He'll show you all the ropes, be fair to you, respect you. But don't forget... he _is_ your boss."

I'm an independent woman. I don't need anyone or anything. No one is the boss of me.

Just then, I heard the door open. I turned, but before my eyes could adjust through the haze of complete and total _stench_, I was hit by a sickening wave of... of... what smelled like dog shit. For a while, I don't even think I was able to look at the guy clearly, the smell was so distracting.

"I'm mighty sorry, Allison. He doesn't normally... um... well, he's usually _cleaner_ than this," I remember 'uncle' saying.

Right then, the cloud of funk seemed to clear—at least for a second. The second I started to take him in, whether I showed it or not, I almost smiled. Not because I was impressed or anything, but because my babysitter was _such_ a step up from what I'd thought he'd be. I was under the impression that it was some old Cajun with a beer gut. Compared to that, my 'boss' looked like a shining angel sent from Heaven. He spotted me and did the routine sweep, the one that I'd already been given by every other male within a twenty mile radius.

He smiled at me and said, "Miss," almost bowing to me with his eyes glinting.

I rose my brow. Although I did the best I could to hide it, I was finding this... _Chad_ really fascinating. He had okay hair, a white and straight smile, good body, but most of all, his eyes were a crystal blue. I stumped me, really. I didn't know that hillbillies could be so... _not_ completely repulsive. Then I took in his clothes and muddy boots, and I smirked. That was probably the only clothing that he owned.

Chad rambled about his payment or something to my 'uncle', but I wasn't really paying attention. I was studying him. He was completely unorthodox: a beautiful nightmare, a walking contradiction. He was a _hillbilly_, but... he wasn't _ugly_. This was too much for my brain to handle.

Then he crossed his arms awkwardly, rocking on the balls of his feet, and my gaze shot to his arms. Big. Lean. Muscular. Tan.

_Hello, there_.

As soon as I caught myself staring, I replaced the impolite smirk on my face for safety. I kept watching him, unable to believe my eyes. He was a _hot redneck_. That's like saying 'delicious grossness' or a 'virgin prostitute'. _It didn't work_! This was against nature. I just couldn't get over it. This was harder to comprehend than college physics.

As we were leaving the office, I heard the little comment that my 'uncle' made to Chad.

"Keep your eyes on her _face_, not anywhere else."

"Yes, sir," I heard him mumble sheepishly.

As we walked out, I could feel his eyes on me. My smug disposition was back and totally unfazed. If he liked my body that much, than it shouldn't be too hard to... _persuade_ him into not making me work, right? I made a mental note to attempt to seduce my way out of physical labor. It shouldn't be too hard. All I've got to do is flutter my lashes and say a few words that will make him melt on the inside, and we're good. It's not like I haven't done it before.

If there was a job that required you to persuade people into doing what you want, I'd totally dominate that. In fact, I'd be CEO. I'm the Yoda of persuasion. Chad is the poor, defenseless alien that I use the Jedi Mind Trick on. And if worse comes to worst, and I have to sneak a flash of stomach or leg in, so be it. Anything is better than going out and hunting those giant, slimy lizards.

The only time I will ever touch an alligator is when it's a purse or my shoes. That's as close to those monsters as I'm getting. End of story. If I have to seduce Chad, I will. No hot dirty work for me! I don't _do_ work. People do work _for_ me. I'm completely out of my element here. I feel like a Goth in the middle of a _Claire's_. Everything is disgusting and scary... I'm scared to _touch_ anything!

After a lot of complaining, my 'babysitter' somehow persuaded me to get into the foul-smelling truck. I bet that this won't come out of my clothes. These shoes are _Gucci_! If they're ruined, I swear, someone is getting sued! These things cost more than every person's house in this town, I bet. I screamed at the top of my lungs when something big jumped in front of the vehicle. I flinched and my arms shot in front of my face. To my surprise, the car gently glided to a stop and _I was still alive._ Chad was laughing at me. I shot a glare at him.

I can play that game. "You have soap, right?"

The look on his face showed that my comment had gotten to him. Great. He's easy to get to. He won't be hard to persuade.

He came to a stop, causing me to look forward. I almost had _another_ heart attack. This was a _shack_! At least it was compared to where I live. I couldn't help but gasp... but it wasn't like I was trying to hold it back, anyway. It was only one story, covered in a bunch of unpainted wood. A few windows. Dirty. In the middle of the woods. _God_, Consuela's maid quarters looked bigger than this! They actually _lived _in this? Just looking at it made me feel claustrophobic.

I opened the door slowly, noticing how this supposed 'gentleman' didn't get my door for me. I guess he's still a little sour from my soap comment. Good. I cautiously stepped up the seemingly unstable steps until we were on the small porch. Flies were flying around us everywhere. I could hear mosquitoes buzzing by my ears. He reached forward and opened a screen door before opening the wooden one behind it. Chad opened both of them, stepped back while holding it open, and smiled a little tightly at me.

"After you," he smiled... but it was more of a smirk.

So _now_ he decides to be courteous. He'll be a gentleman when he's inviting me into the House of Hell. Figures. That's what I get for being a smart ass.

I didn't even bother to fake a smile. I was too angry. I stepped in, and instantly realized that it would only get worse from here. The ceilings weren't high. Second-rate furniture. It didn't smell too great. No maid waiting for us at the door. Small kitchenette. The kitchen wasn't even a _separate room_! How sad was that? I mean, obviously I never expected anything livable, but this was _pitiful_! And what color was that couch considered? Puke Green? Ugh. I'm going to die. Just lie on the floor and stare at that hideous couch and die.

"Welcome to paradise," he grinned, and the worst part was, I don't even think he was being sarcastic. He _actually_ liked this. Chad pointed backwards to a small hallway going off to the right. "The bedrooms are back there. Yours is at the end of the hall. Mine is right next door if you need anything."

I followed him miserably as he led me through the cramped hallway. He pointed to a door on the right. "This is my room." He pointed to a white door at the very end of the hall. "And that's yours."

It was like a horror movie scene in my mind. The walls around me seemed to stretch, close in, while the door got closer. I mean, come on, the thing was like those creepy closets that are always at the end of the hallway in the movies. Chad apparently noticed the look on my face. He rolled his eyes.

"It doesn't bite," he said. He walked ahead and opened the door, ushering me inside. I couldn't help but flinch as I was pushed through the doorway. He flicked on the light. "See? It's not that bad. You have a double bed here, a TV, a nice, big window..."

Let me correct that sentence: I have a double bed that looked small enough to be a single, an old box TV, and the window wasn't anything special. Come on, dude, don't tell me you're selling me a horse then give me a donkey.

I just looked around, nose wrinkled, observing. I heard him mutter something about my luggage and leave the room. I heard footsteps leave the house, and I could see him through the dusty blinds as he lifted my heavy luggage from the back of his truck as if they were feathers. Well, if there was _one_ good thing about this place, it was that I had a buff 'babysitter'.

I stared at the tan walls, thinking about how I seriously needed to somehow add some color in here. I wouldn't be able to survive these next few months if I slept in a bland, dull room. Maybe I could go buy some curtains _somewhere _and jazz it up a little bit. Get a new bedspread. Add a rug and some paint. Hmm. I could make it cozy. Maybe.

I was so deep in my thoughts that Chad almost startled me when he busted in with my bags. He placed each one on the floor effortlessly with a polite smile.

"There ya go," he smiled at me kindly. He stood up straight and stretched his arms. He gave me a sparing look with his blue eyes. "Okay, I know that you don't want to be here." No, duh. "But I'm gonna try and make it as painless as possible for you, alright? I know that you probably think I'm just some dumb hick or somethin'—" (just a little...) "—but there really are pros to livin' here, and it's not all boring and dirty. I'll show you the cool stuff... but seriously, if you need anything, just let me know."

I tried to smile, but I think it came off as more of a grimace. I slowly and cautiously sat down on the bed. He took a deep breath and crossed his arms, staring out of the window. We sat there in silence for a while. It seemed kind of awkward to me, but it looked like his mind was somewhere else.

Suddenly, he seemed to snap back into reality. "My dad should be home in an hour or so. We'll fix supper once he gets here. It's gonna be deer and turkey burgers with homemade fries." I don't know why he looked so proud of himself.

I rose my eyebrows. "Sounds... interesting."

He frowned a little. "Don't knock it 'til you try it."

Too bad. I'm 'knocking' it. I kept this thought to myself, though. Instead, I just lied and asked him if he would step out so I could change clothes. He nodded a lot and started apologizing for some reason... I think he was embarrassed. Or he was thinking some stuff that wasn't appropriate *insert smirk here*. Probably the second.

I lied down on the bed and took deep breaths. I couldn't even _begin_ to explain how much I didn't want to be here. I felt unloved, I really did. My parents just acted like they didn't even have a _problem_ with sending me away. They were acting like the teenagers who were trying to get their parents out of the house so they could throw a party. It was like... they were _happy_ to get rid of me.

I swallowed down the lump full of hurt in my throat. I don't know why I'd been hoping for any differently. It wasn't like they ever treated me any better, really. The only person who really ever acted like a parent to me was Consuela. But that's just it. She's _not_ my parent. She is great and all... I love her to death... but I just didn't have parents. Plain and simple. They were like landlords. They owned the house that I stayed in and I paid them by letting them yell at me and put me down.

Besides my big house, my looks, and my ridiculous amount of money and smarts, I hated my life.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: I have a new song cover posted on my youtube! Check out the link on the bottom of my profile. It's Flightless Bird, American Mouth. Thanks, lovelies! :) I love you guys!**

**So what do you think of the story so far? Do you like where it's going? You think Allison is a brat? Do you just feel sorry for her? Excited for the next chapter? Any ideas or suggestions? Review!**


	5. Chapter 5

**ALLISON**

It's brown. And lumpy. And mushy. Ew, and I'm pretty sure that it just moved. My hair fell in my face as I stared down at what was _supposed_ to be my dinner. Was I really expected to eat this? I am pretty sure that whatever this was, isn't dead yet. Are the cheap, poor-quality, white bread buns supposed to hide that or something? And they called these fries? More like overcooked, unappetizing, yellow strips of crappily-grown potatoes. And all of this didn't only _look_ disgusting, it smelled it, too.

I glanced across the table at my two pigs of a host. They were devouring it like they hadn't seen food in weeks... which with their finances, they probably hadn't. I could _hear_ the juices squeeze from the 'meat' as they picked it up and took a bite. The brown juice stuck all over their faces. Ugh, this is _nasty_! How can humans live like this? Well... half-humans, I guess. That's what they're acting like, anyway. Chad's dad looked up from his 'food' and rose his brows at me, wiping his mouth with a paper napkin after he finished chewing. I can't tell you how long that mouth-wiping was overdue.

"Is everything okay, Miss Allison?" he asked me, and it was so _polite_. How is everyone down here so courteous all of the time? Especially living in conditions like _this_. The innocent look on his face made it hard for me to express how I really felt about it.

"It's... just, uh..." I looked around, and Chad caught my eye. He had stopped eating as well, and he was watching me. He gave me a look that I caught as, 'don't insult his cooking'. Too bad I'm not a people-pleaser. "I'm just not very hungry, I guess. You know, different time zones."

He seemed to buy that, which really does show the low IQ of these people. Time zones and eating hardly have anything to do with each other! Wow, it's even easier to lie here than at home.

"Why don't you just try to eat somethin', though?" Chad suddenly piped, chewing. Ugh, moms tell kids not to talk with food in their mouths for a reason, you know. "I know that your schedule's a little off, but you'll end up being really hungry in the middle of the night if you don't at least snack on somethin' now."

Shoot. That was a valid argument. I settled for, "No, that's okay." I stared down at the food, and I'm pretty sure that I visibly shivered. Was this once a _deer_? One of those things that we almost flattened on the way here? It's hard to imagine that transition from the road to the... plate.

One look at Chad's face told me that he saw right through me like a piece of plastic. He kept glancing from me to my plate. "Come on, now. Just try a bite."

"Now, Chad, don't make 'er eat if she don't want to," his father told him. Chad shooed him off.

"You know what you always say, Daddy," he smirked. "Wasted food is just one more meal that the homeless could have had..." he stared at me "... but _didn't_."

He can meaner than I thought.

Payback noted.

Mr. Cooper looked at me expectantly. He seemed torn. "I don't wanna make ya eat, but at least try a little. Chad's right. You'll be starvin' by midnight."

I sighed and my body tensed as if I was readying myself for taking sour cough syrup. As slowly as I could without being yelled at, I wrapped one hand around the toxic waste that was on my paper plate. I took a deep breath and let it out hastily. My eyes shut tightly and tongue at the defensive, and took a small and quick bite. The tastes and sensations were... well...

Let me tell you this: MEAT ISN'T SUPPOSED TO _SLOSH_ IN YOUR MOUTH!

I managed to swallow it, don't ask me how, but I made a promise to myself: no more food from this house if it is going to taste like it looks. My stomach growled in agreement. I could already tell that this mess wasn't going to agree with me. Yeah, Chad, I'll be up at twelve tonight; but instead of snacking, I'll be _hunched over the toilet_, you asshole!

I forced a smile to my face, but I knew it looked more like grimacing. God, I'm so getting him for this. That was the most disgusting and inedible thing I have ever stuck into my mouth. And I ate a year-old piece of gum off of the sidewalk when I was two, so that's saying something! I'd eat five more pieces of that gum if it meant never seeing or _tasting_ the likes of this again.

I didn't say anything to the father, of course.

I just glared at the son.

I stared daggers. I hope he's uncomfortable. I want him to feel as bad as my stomach.

"So?" the dad asked me, brows raised hopefully. That look killed me. That's the look of interest and approval I've always secretly craved from my parents. A look that showed that they were at least _somewhat _interested in my opinion.

I just made some 'hmm' noises that I tried to make sound like I was enjoying this toxic garbage. Mr. Cooper smiled and looked very happy, which unfortunately still didn't take that God-awful taste out of my mouth. I excused myself and practically ran to their small bathroom down the hallway. God, this wasn't a bathroom! It was a closet!

I rinsed out my mouth and sat on the toilet, taking deep breaths and calming myself. A tear ran down my cheek without my permission. Did I mention that I _didn't want to be here_?

I ran my hand through my hair and fluffed it at the roots. I thought over everything that's happened so far and what I most likely had in store for me, and I couldn't help but seriously think, how would I survive this? I'll either fly back to California emotionally scarred, with a serious case of depression, or they'll send me back in a box.

I made sure to emerge from the bathroom (ahem, closet) once they were through eating. I sneaked to my room and shut the door behind me. I took my state-of-the-art laptop from my polka-dot bag, the charger, too, and plugged it in. I brought a router with me, since I had a feeling these hicks wouldn't have any wifi. I was right. Big surprise there. I was surprised the router even connected to anything. Hmm, there must be _someone_ with internet out here. Interesting. Well, I'm sure they won't mind if I mooch off of their internet connection for a while.

After I had the router set up and everything, I got on my Facebook. I had plenty of wall posts from my friends saying things like, 'We missed you Friday night!' and 'Where are you?'. I had a few 'like's on my pictures and some inbox messages. One was one of those stupid chain letters, and the other two were my friends wondering why they couldn't get a hold of me.

With bitter fingers, I typed the same reply to both of them. I explained how I was in Louisiana with some uncle I didn't know, forced to work, because my 'attitude needed adjusting'. I also told them how I didn't get any cell service out where I 'lived', so this would be my only means of communication. After I sent both messages, I stared at the screen desperately, hoping that one of them happened to be online right now and could chat with me. I was about to rip my hair out if I didn't have some Real-World communication soon.

Nothing came.

I dug in my bag and pulled out my cell phone charger, so I hooked it up. I also—I can't believe I'm doing this—pulled out some books I had packed for emergencies of boredom. It's pretty sad that I'm digging into these on the first night, huh? I sighed and hunched over, looking at my heeled feet. My mind was nowhere in particular... just some Land of the Miserable somewhere. I sat down on my bed and pulled off my heels. While I was at it, I decided to change into my pajamas.

With a distressed sigh, I pulled out my designer silky top and shorts, scowling at them. You see, I was under the impression that I would have a more... _private_ place to live. I figured that I would be staying with my 'uncle', and since we didn't know one another, he'd steer clear of me, and I'd do the same. I wasn't counting on staying in a small house with a guy around my age and his father.

This was going to be a problem.

Well... maybe whenever I change into my nighties, it could be at the very end of the night when I'm planning to go to bed. That way, they never have to see me! Okay, yes, I know that I talk big with seduction and all that, but I'm not _completely_ loose with my body. For the most part... sometimes... I am humble, and would be totally and completely embarrassed to be seen by any guy in this. I just wear them to make myself feel pretty. _Just myself_. No one else.

I put them on and savored the feeling of the soft material. I climbed into bed and took the laptop with me, deciding to surf the web for something to do. I went to Grooveshark to listen to some music, and to Youtube to watch some videos. I stalked some random good-looking guys that I semi-knew on Facebook, and I posted a status.

"_God help me"_ it read. I got a few instant 'like's on it right away. My friends who knew my situation were pitying me. Good. I was in the mood for some much-needed pitying. Everyone seemed to think that I actually _deserved_ this. I needed some people who were on my side, who realized that I shouldn't be here. I should be back in California. It's a Saturday night. I should be at the clubs, partying, going to movies, going to Frat parties. Why is that too much to ask for a girl starting out in college?

Instead, I'm sentenced to this dump.

I could just picture the judge in a courtroom with my mother's face, pounding the gavel and smirking happily as she read my sentence aloud. I was the innocent defendant, and Consuela was my lawyer. My father was the prosecutor who always kissed up to the judge to get what they wanted. This was my life. My friends were the courtroom audience, all on my side. But they couldn't do anything about the judge. No one could. She was an unstoppable monster, hungry for more and more power.

She always got her way, my mother. Look at where I am. Look at how much of a fight my father put up (none!). Look at how my _true_ friend, Consuela, wasn't here by my side. Look at how much my parents have called me to see if I arrived okay, to see if I was settling in alright? Look at how often they called to make sure the the plane didn't crash and that I wasn't dead.

They haven't.

I received one text from Consuela at the airport, and it was a short one. She managed to explain quickly how she wasn't supposed to be texting me, so any communication was forbidden, really. My 'mom' apparently said that 'I needed to be cut off from all things good so I could learn my lesson'. Oh, please. Keeping me miserable is just her fun little past time when she's not working or off at some luxurious beach somewhere in the world.

That's just the way my family worked. Ta-da.

I slid down in my bed, closing the laptop and wiping at my eyes. Why am I crying again without my own permission? Ugh, I have the worst self-control ever. I sniffled a little, unable to stop it. I could feel the waterworks coming. Oh, God. I'm telling you, me crying is an unstoppable monster.

Before I knew it, my stress, feelings of abandonment and betrayal, and just constantly being _grossed out_ overtook me. I was lying down in my bed, my sheets and comforter covering me, tears rolling quietly but steadily down my cheeks. I realized that all of the wet tears were soaking my pillow... which made me cry even more. God, I'm so damn pitiful. I need to be stronger and shut up. I just need to bottle my emotions. I just get scolded if I ever let them out, anyway.

Suddenly, the image of my mother as a judge penetrated my mind again. More tears rolled down my face and onto my pillow. A mother was supposed to be stern but loving. Always there for you. Tell you how much she loves you. Tell you about your period when you get old enough, tell you that you 'are _not_ going out in that!' or 'I love that outfit! That's so cute, sweetie!'. Moms are supposed to hug you and hold you close and issue threats towards the boy who just gave you your first heartbreak. Mothers are supposed to cook you breakfast, smile when they see you. Tell you that you're pretty. They're also supposed to keep you in line, discipline you when you do things wrong, plant the right ideals in your head.

See, my mom only got the 'be mean and controlling' memo. I never even _once_ remember her telling me that she loved me. The same goes for my father. Neither of them ever came to any of my dance or voice recitals. They never came to my first soccer game. They only came to my teacher orientations when I was in trouble.

You see? That's just it. Whenever I did something wrong, they suddenly would pay attention. They are just so... so... _not even parents_! I suddenly had an urge to go run through the nearest shopping center blinded with tears, buying anything and everything I saw, just because I could. That's how I dealt with my parental problem. I shopped and shopped until I dropped. And sometimes, when I'm alone, I'll cry and cry until the tears run out and I have a pounding headache.

I wiped at my hot tears. They were coming even more fluently now, faster. I shut my eyes tightly, hating this. Hating my life so much.

Suddenly, there was a knock at my door. I was so surprised and so off-guard that I just sat there for a second in shock, my heart racing. As the door opened, I quickly wiped at my tears and turned to face the wall so my face would be hidden.

"Hey," I heard Chad's voice begin to say, but then he stopped short. There was a long silence as I struggled to hide my sniffling and runny nose. After what seemed like forever, he finally spoke. His tone was instantly softer. "Hey, are you okay?"

I cleared my throat and tried to keep my voice from breaking. "Oh... yeah! Yeah, I—I'm fine." I sounded totally unbelievable to my ears, too. I heard his feet shuffle uncomfortably, unsure of what to do. After all, we hardly knew each other. Guys are awkward enough around crying girls already, so I'm sure our situation didn't help.

He sighed, distraught. "I don't think—are you _sure_ you're okay?"

I cleared my throat again. Not trusting my voice, though, I just raised a thumbs-up. That obviously didn't convince him either, because he still wouldn't leave. Chad just stood in the doorway, silent. I didn't know what he was doing or thinking, because I couldn't see him, and he couldn't see me, and I was going to keep it that way. Not only because I didn't want him to see me cry, but because my PJ's weren't exactly appropriate for him to see.

After an even longer silence, he asked quietly, "Can I come in?"

I wanted to say no. Actually, I wanted to scream at him to go away so I could just cry in peace. I am stressed out enough as it is. I don't know why I muttered a 'Yeah'. I guess it was just because I knew he probably wouldn't go away until he got whatever it was that he wanted.

I heard Chad's footsteps slowly come closer, until I could sense his presence at the side of my bed, behind me. He didn't sit down on the edge, he didn't ask 'why are you crying?' or anything. He was just quiet. Quiet for a long time, actually. Just trying to decide what to tell a crying girl that he didn't know, I guess.

"Um..." he started out, his voice deep and almost a whisper. I could just picture his hands stuck inside of his pockets. "I don't... I don't know exactly what you want me to tell you. But, uh... I—I'm sorry about the whole thing at supper. I didn't think it'd upset you..."

Oh my God, he thought I was crying because of what _he_ did? Did he really think I was shedding a tear over a gross little burger? I wasn't giving that piece of inedible junk the satisfaction! After the ridiculousness of his assumption hit me, I realized that it was actually kind of funny.

I don't even know why I was hiding my tears from him. He knew that I was crying. And he knew that I knew that he knew that I was crying. This was stupid. Slowly, careful to make sure that my sheets were covering every inch of me from my neck down, I turned over. I haven't taken my makeup off yet, so I'm sure that it was running. Oh, yeah, Chad, I'm sure that I look really hot now. Not.

He took in my face and instantly looked even more awkward, like he was regretting his decision to just not have closed the door and walked away. His eyes left mine and went to the floor.

"It's not anything you did," I told him quietly, my voice a raspy whisper.

He looked ten times more relieved. "I don't know if I can... but... if there's anything I can do for you... like I said earlier... don't hesitate to ask."

It was odd seeing a tall, muscular guy like him so feeble. I tried to smile, but I just didn't have it in me. Once I finally caught his eye, I tried to send a thankful look his way. I don't know if it worked, though, because his eyes shot straight to his feet again.

"Alright," he nodded, backing away, finally getting the waves of 'I want to be alone!' that were radiating off of me. "Um, I just came to say goodnight. So... uh... goodnight."

He shot me a somewhat awkward, somewhat encouraging smile as he closed the door behind him.


	6. Chapter 6

**C H A D**

Oh, God.

A crying girl.

What do I do?

I held my breath until my lungs felt like they were about to burst. My original plan was just to come in here and tell her goodnight. Why would she be crying? Was it something I did? It probably is something I did... God, I'm such an idiot! Why did I have to make her eat Dad's inedible burgers? The only reason I was immune to those things was because I grew up having to eat them—they sure gave you a tough stomach.

Even though she was an annoying, self-absorbed, spoiled, whiney, unfortunately hot guest... she was still a guest. And you don't food poison your guests. It's just not common courtesy. We Southerners are known for our good food. Why did I have to freak her out like that? _I made her cry_. Shit.

I wasn't sure what to say, so I tried, "Hey, are you okay?"

"Oh... yeah! Yeah, I—I'm fine."

Well, _that_ sounded completely fake. I sighed, running my hand through my hair. I hardly know her... how am I supposed to deal with this? This wasn't part of the job description. "I don't think—are you _sure_ you're okay?"

She just gave me a thumbs-up sign, still not facing me. I felt so awkward just standing there in the doorway. Part of me wanted to help, and part of me wanted no part of the crying girl in my guest bedroom. After a lot of thought, I asked what I thought would be best. "Can I come in?"

"Yeah," she mumbled so quietly that I almost wasn't sure if she actually said it or not.

Slowly, surely, I stepped closer to Allison's bed. I was really silent, almost afraid that if I breathed too loud it would make her cry harder. She looked so... fragile. Which was really weird, because a first impression of her tends to come off as—well, she has a strong personality. I guess that I should apologize.

"I don't... I don't know exactly what you want me to tell you. But, uh... I—I'm sorry about the whole thing at supper. I didn't think it'd upset you..."

I mean, sure, I knew it'd get on her nerves, but that was the whole point. I never meant to hurt her feelings. Almost in slow motion, I heard the sheets rustle and she rolled around to face me. I was hit by a pang of awkwardness and regret at the sight of her. Her eyes were red, her cheeks blotchy, tear trails rolling down her face and all the way to her neck. I tried not to shut my eyes and just look away. I felt like a total asshole!

"It's not anything you did," she suddenly said in a raspy whisper.

It was like 500 pound weights had been lifted from my shoulders. I couldn't hold in my sigh of relief. Can you say _phew_?

"I don't know if I can... but... if there's anything I can do for you... like I said earlier... don't hesitate to ask," I muttered, trying to smile at her. She really wasn't that pleasant of a person, but she didn't deserve to cry like this. I suddenly felt anger towards the person who caused her this pain. What sort of a person makes a girl cry?

Allison looked at me for a while, but my eyes shot straight to my feet. I couldn't handle looking at her face anymore. She stopped talking all together, and so did I. I was starting to think that the waves of awkwardness radiating around the room was supposed to be a sign or something for me. I cleared my throat and began backing towards the door.

"Alright," I nodded at her. "Um, I just came to say goodnight. So... uh... goodnight."

I tried to grin encouragingly at her. Maybe she was homesick, and being in what she referred to as a 'shack' in the middle of Louisiana probably didn't make things any better for her. I shut the door behind me, and exhaled deeply, letting out all of the tension I'd felt in the room. So if Dad's cooking wasn't the problem, my behavior wasn't the problem, and if perhaps homesickness wasn't the problem, then what could it be? She has everything. A fact that she never seems to forget to remind me of.

I felt bad just leaving her in there, but I did. I turned to my left and went into my bedroom, changing into my sweats and t-shirt. I set my alarm clock for five in the morning, the time I needed to be up so we could get down the one of the cabins by five-thirty. Oh, while I was in her room, I'd meant to tell her what time we'd be getting up... but I figured that it wasn't the best time. I just suppose she'll be in for an ugly little surprise tomorrow morning.

* * *

><p>A peircing blaring in my ear woke me. I shot up in bed, thinking I was about to be late for school, then I realized that it was summer. Wow, Chad, nice. I rubbed the sleep from my eyes and tried not to just bury myself back into my warm and soft covers. Don't you just hate that feeling when you're so warm, so comfortable, so sleepy, and you have to get up? Trust me, no one hates it more than me, because I have to do this almost <em>every morning<em>. FIVE O'CLOCK A.M. Sounds fun, huh?

Notice the sarcasm in my voice.

I opened my blinds and welcomed the sun, trying to shed the light over my dark room. I pulled on a pair of ripped jeans and one of my, what I call, 'work shirts'. It had a few holes in it and some stains, but it was technically clean. I'd probably end up taking it off anyway, so who really cared? It didn't stink or anything... that much. I could dress in a tuxedo to work and Allison would probably still find something to complain about.

Speaking of Allison, I wonder if she's okay. She looked pretty torn up last night. I hope she slept alright. Why? Because nothing feels better after crying a lot than a nap. That, and she'll need plenty of rest if she wants to be able to get through my job! Heck, _I_ need a lot of sleep if I want to be able to get through my job. Heavy lifting, hot sun, high humidity, maintenance... she'll totally croak. This should be fun to watch.

I stretched again and yawned, walking out of my bedroom door and approaching hers. I smirked, rose my fist, and waited for a few seconds.

BAM BAM BAM!

I banged on her door as loudly as I could without breaking it. My dad was already up and had left for work, so there was no one to worry about awakening. Just her. This was so much fun.

"Hey, Allison!" I called loudly, tilting my head towards the closed white door. "It's time to wake up! Work!"

I heard a frustrated groan and some mumbling. Then, a raspy voice shrieked, "Good God, Chad... it's five in the freaking morning!"

"Exactly. That's the time we wake up."

It was hilarious. Our voices were like night and day. Mine was chipper and well-warmed up already, and hers sounded like half of it was gone.

"Go screw yourself!" she groaned, and I heard her bed creak, like she'd slammed back into it. I could picture her covering her head with her pillow and locking herself in her sheets stubbornly. She was gonna make me do it, wasn't she?

"Now, that ain't very nice," I shook my head, unable to keep the smugness out of my voice. "You know what we do to people in this house who can't mind their manners?"

"No one freaking cares!" she shouted, and it was muffled most likely by her puffy pillow.

"You don't care? You sure?"

She couldn't say I didn't warn her...

"Hell yes! Now go away so I can sleep!"

I took that as my signal to go outside and grab an aluminum bucket. It was muddy from a recent rain, but I didn't care, because apparently she didn't! I brought it inside, walked to the kitchen, filled it with ice cubes from the freezer, followed with water from the faucet, and marched excitedly towards her room. Let's see how much she would care about this.

I swung open the door, nearly laughing with joy, and in one swift movement, dumped the icy cold water all over Allison and her bed. It was almost in slow motion. I had braced the pail against my arm, twisted my body backwards for momentum, and threw the liquid. It spread and shined in the air, twisting and hurtling towards it's target. The moment it splashed around her, the pillow covering her face was thrown across the room, followed by a screaming and shrieking Allison jumping out of bed. Her face was red with anger and her eyes stung as she glared incredulously at me.

It very quickly came to my attention at how the way her pajamas clinged to her skin... and then how much more they did when they were wet. I try to be a gentleman to women and be courteous... that's just the way I was brought up. So, I felt really... I don't know... _dirty_ as my eyes glued themselves to her. And what didn't help was that it only seemed to be making her madder. Well, at least, I _think_ it was. Her face had been pale because of the cold water, but now her face was red and heating up.

"What are you _staring at_?" she demanded of me, her voice a deadly whisper. I would guess her eyes were dark and clouded with anger... but I wouldn't know. I wasn't looking at her eyes.

I just stuttered and stumbled over my words like an illiterate child staring at a delicious brownie. Okay, yeah, I know it's perverted, but I mean, _good lord_. Just look at her!

"Get out!" she yelled, turning me around and shoving me towards the door with her wet hands. I could feel her sharply manicured fingernails digging into my shoulderblades. "Get out _now_!"

Before I knew it, I was stumbling out into the hallway with a slamming door meeting me as soon as I turned around. It was only a fraction of a second before I heard the lock on the knob twist and _click!_ She was screaming something at me angrily through the door... but I honestly can't remember what it was... I was saving the image of her in my hormonal-college-guy mind.

I did catch the end of one of her sentences, though. "...Unbelievable!" she was saying. "Who in their right mind does that? _Dumping ice water_ on people? Is that how you ignoramous hicks subsitute for an alarm clock down here? Ridiculous!"

"Well, maybe if you would have just woken up when I told you to, I wouldn't have had to get the water bucket," I said through gritted teeth through the door. I was started to get sick of her constantly insulting my intelligence. What do you want to bet that my aptitude test scores are higher than hers? I bet that if she took the ACT, she'd be screwed. I kept these thoughts to myself, though. I've learned over time that spitting back insulting comments usually just fueled the fire that I was so desperately trying to put out.

I heard her huff. "I didn't know you would invade my privacy and dump freaking _ice_ on me!" she whined loudly.

"You may think it's unorthadox, but you're never gonna try sleeping in again, are you?" I smirked, crossing my arms. My answer was silence with the occasional mumbling that I couldn't understand... and it was probably for the best that I didn't.

* * *

><p>I sighed as I locked the house door behind us, escorting the girl that I was 'babysitting' to my truck. She stood on the porch for a while, sulking I guess, as I walked ahead and unlocked the pickup. I climbed in and cleaned off the passenger seat for her, turning on the air conditioning as soon as the air coolant was warmed up. Having my seatbelt buckled and everything, I was surprised and slightly annoyed when I looked up to find that she hadn't moved. There she stood in her designer jeans and high heels, arms crossed indignantly, a defiant scowl staining her features, her large sunglasses hiding her eyes.<p>

I groaned and rolled down my window, leaning out and calling to her. God is really testing my patience now, I guess. "What are you doing over there? We need to get going!"

"I'm not going," she answered, stomping her heeled foot and planting it there.

I rose my eyebrows and almost laughed. That's funny, she seemed to think that she had _a choice_ in the matter. "You're... not going," I restated. She stuck out a hip in response. I tried not to stare at it. I cleared my head and took a deep breath, begging the Lord to grant me patience, and _a lot_ of it. "Sorry to break it to you, Allison, but you don't really have a choice. You have to go."

"I don't 'have' to go anywhere with you," she spat back out at me. "I don't even want to be here! Since I'm already here and I can't change that, at least I'm gonna _try_ and enjoy myself while I'm in the backwoods of America. If I am going _anywhere_, it's shopping."

"Alright," I nodded slowly, my tone amazingly calm for the aggravated fire that was raging inside of me, "we can go shopping. For paint brushes and paint. And new fishing rods and baits. Plus, we need to get some lines for the gators."

She just stared at me incredulously. At least, I _think_ it was incredulous. It was hard to tell behind those dark lenses.

"No way, not _that_ kind of shopping," she seethed at me. My grip on the steerling wheel involuntarily tightened. God, she is such a brat! "I know that... _your kind_... probably isn't used to this, but I want to go _clothes shopping_. You know, like Belk? JCPenny? Hollister?"

An angry shiver ran down my spine. I need to control myself. I have to remember that _I'm_ the adult here, not her. If she wants to act like a spoiled six year-old, let her. The way I'm getting paid for this makes it well worth it, right? Just be nice and calm and positive when you respond to her, Chad.

"The closest _you_ are getting to Belk is their TV commercials," I snapped. "Look, Allison, I'm sick and tired of you talking to me like I'm some uneducated hick and that can't read or write. Whether you like it or not, _I'm_ your boss, _I'm_ your only ride home, _my_ house is the only house you can live in, and _I_ am your only link to the outside world. So I'd suggest that you pick your friends wisely and be a little nicer to the guy who is in charge of how much work you do. It's as simple as that. You got it?"

She just stood there, mouth slightly agape, unable to believe that I finally gave her a little taste of her own medicine. It's about time she was put in her place. Even though she didn't respond, she still didn't budge a step towards the truck, so I couldn't help but to continue.

"What?" I asked, feigned concern on my face. "Do you understand? _Am I talking slow enough for you_?" My tone was demeaning, much like hers. "Let me put this in a way that you spoiled, uneducated-on-reality, preppy California people might understand: YOU. GET. IN. TRUCK." Her chin visibly dropped further, but she still didn't move. "Allison, don't even think about going back in your room and locking the door behind you, because all of the doorknobs in that house are the same. If you wiggle them a certain way, they unlock, so there is no possible way that you could keep me from coming into your room early every morning and dumping a bucketful of ice water on your head."

She almost looked slightly taken aback. Hmm, I must have read her mind. Good, because this chick seriously needs to be set straight—something I'm sure that her parents never try to do back home. "And, for your information, there _is_ a Belk not too far from here." I could almost feel her eyes light up behind her sunglasses. "And if you don't do work, there is no way under this big blue sky that I'm telling you where it is or how to get there. Around here, you can't just whine and get whatever you want. We have to work for it."

The only thing that she did to make me smile was the way she slipped in the mud on the way running to my truck.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: OKAY, I know that I haven't updated in over a month. I am SO unbelievably sorry, you guys. My life has been so busy lately you wouldn't have any idea. Plus, my grandfather passed away recently... and that's sort of been keeping me down in the dumps lately, keeping me sort of out of a writing-type mood. I also have either choir or play rehearsal every day after school, and that has been eating up a lot of my time. Again, I apologize so much. I totally don't blame you if you decide not to review.**

**But... then again... I'd really like it if you did :) Since you all are so awesome and all. Tell me, are you liking the story so far? Do you think Chad's attitude is the right one? Review!**


	7. Chapter 7

**ALLISON**

Don't even get me _started_ on how much I hate this. I don't think it's humanly possible for me to be any more pissed off than I already am. But don't worry, guys, I have a plan. Insert evil smirk here. All I have to do is _come off_ as if I'm trying my absolute hardest while working, but purposefully mess everything up! If it was obvious that I was sabotaging every task Chad gave me because I was whiney and wanted to go home, he'd make me do it anyway. But if it looked like I was doing the best I could, and I _still_ screwed everything up, surely he would tell me to take a seat and stay away from the tools.

That's right, great plan, isn't it? I'm a genius like that.

I stayed silent in the truck, trying not to complain about the mud that was now on the bottom of my Gucci heels. Oh, trust me, I wanted to scream about it to him _so badly_, but I kept my mouth shut. At least until we got to... the cabins. Ugh, just the word itself makes me want to barf. I began laying on the sugary sweetness as we parked.

"Chad?" I asked, my voice small and innocent.

He sighed and turned his head towards me, no doubt expecting a snide comment or whiney complaint. Sorry to disappoint you, Chaddy.

"What?"

I fumbled with my bangles, not looking up at him like the great actress I was. "Hey... look, I'm sorry, okay?" He did a double-take. "I know I'm a brat. I know I probably annoy you like hell and _make_ life Hell for you. I just... I have no say in my life. I never really have. And I took it out on you. I'm sorry." I finished my little speech with a sad smile and some batting of my luxuriously long eyelashes. He seemed at a loss for words at first... whether it was in awe of my beauty or my words I didn't know. All I know is that for a while, he didn't say anything, chewing on his lip.

"It's okay, Allison," he finally said, giving me a smile that was surprisingly dazzling. For a hillbilly. "Let's just... let's just start over. The quicker we do the work today, the faster we can get back in this truck and go home. And the sooner you can get to Belk or whatever you call it."

I pretended to be relieved and flashed him with another 100 watt smile, distracting him for a second as I opened the door and climbed out. This will be such a piece of cake! 'The Smile' was always step one in my 'Seduction Plan'. Step two was the way I swung my hips as I strutted towards the cabin in front of the truck, making sure that I got a little bit ahead of him so that he'd have no choice but to notice. After going up the crappy wooden steps, I turned towards him and stood aside so he could unlock the door. If I was reading his face correctly, then my plan is so far working.

I knew it would.

I kept a flirtatious grin on my face as he fumbled with the keys and finally unlocked the crappy door. He held it open for me, and I nodded my head in thanks as I stepped inside. A musty smell immediately hit me like a wall, almost knocking me over in surprise. I coughed a few times and covered my nose. It smells like cancer in here!

The place looked relatively newly built, but the smell was unbearable. The storage shed was crowded with dirt-covered tools and spiderweb-clad fishing poles. There were what I could only assume were boat parts strewn everywhere, so I could only guess that the musty, moldy smell was radiating from them.

"Sorry about the smell," Chad grinned, and why he was grinning was beyond me. I couldn't take my hand off of my nose from fear of fainting from air pollution or something. "Most of these parts were never dried off and cleaned the way they should have been... so the mildew is setting in just a little bit."

_Just a little bit_? He must be so used to being around horrible stenches that he's developed an immunity to them. I tried to giggle like I thought it was funny, but it came out as more of a sarcastic groan. Oh well.

"I don't have to... _touch_ anything in here, right?" I asked, realizing my bratty tone halfway through asking it and making it sugary sweet at the end. He eyed me in a skeptical way for a moment, but then replied.

"Of course you do. We came in here for a reason, ya know," he chuckled, walking into the piles of junk good-naturedly. I made sure to keep my distance. "C'mon, Allison. Don't be scared."

"I'm not scared!" I exclaimed. "I just... choose to stay over here. You know, since I don't really know what I'm doing and all. I'll just watch the master work." I piled on the fake, buttery lies of flattery as he dug around in the smelly garbage.

"I wouldn't call myself a _master_..." he scoffed, pulling out something that looked like a bent up fan. Rust covered it. "But, you're probably right. Just stay back for now, and watch and learn." Shortly after, he tripped over a metal tire rim, cursing under his breath and blushing furiously.

I couldn't keep the smart remark from popping out of my mouth. "Well... Chad, you see, I was watching... and I think what I learned... was that I _should not_ have watched." I was laughing at him. He glared at me, and I quickly shut up. If I wanted to get on his good side, snide and rude comments were _not_ the way to go. No matter how much I wanted to say it. Stay quiet, Allison. Stay quiet.

Even if you have _comic gold_ in your head, stay quiet.

He finally climbed out of the mounds of trash, surprisingly unscathed, and handed me three thick planks of wood. I took them with a grimace on my face at first, worried about getting splinters, but then I smiled largely. I just pretended that they were shopping bags, and it suddenly seemed a whole lot easier. I pictured me and my credit card having a spending spree in Belks, and following Chad around like a lackey wasn't _quite_ as horrible as it had been. But don't get me wrong, it still sucked.

I carried them out to the back of Chad's truck as he instructed, and I quickly dumped them into the truck bed. Ugh, they were so dirty.

_Wait_.

What... what is crawling up my shirt?

"AAAAAAHHHHHH!" My shreik filled the air, making Chad jump fifty feet into the air and swirl around towards me. "GET IT OFF, GET IT OFF, GET IT OFF!"

He rolled his eyes and just walked towards me calmly, sticking his hand out and scooping up the disgusting lizard that was on my stomach. _How_ could he even _touch_ that thing? The scaley little monster wiggled in Chad's hand, and he laughed as he sat it down in the grass and it scurried away. I stared at him in disbelief and disgust, still shaking.

"What?" he asked, laughing. "You scared of a little lizard?"

"_Little_?" I repeated incredulously. "That thing was huge! It could have bit me!"

He just laughed harder at me, and I was starting to get a little pink with anger and offense. I was serious!

"That thing was a baby," he grinned largely. "And lizards don't bite. They can't hurt you."

"As far as you know," I snapped, brushing off my shirt and whimpering. I was not built for the outdoors. I was built for the indoor shopping facilities of the rich and famous. Where the deadliest things there were the ten inch heels and the largest predators were the crazy college girls on Black Friday.

He just sighed, sort of a groan almost, and went back into the shed. "Maybe you should just wait out here."

"Fine, I will!" I said disdainfully.

It took me a minute to realize that my plan was actually working. Not exactly the way I'd planned... but nevertheless, I'd managed to get myself out of at least five to ten minutes of physical labor. Awesome!

For the first time since we'd arrived, I noticed the scenery. Looking away from the cabin... shack... whatever you call it... I noticed that behind me was a lake. A large lake. Or it was a river. Or a bayou. Is that what they call the riverbank? I don't know... all I know is that as I stood there, noticing the big green trees and calm and shiney water, I couldn't help but think: this isn't so ugly. Just add some sand and a resort, and you have yourself a pleasant little vacation spot. Even though it was as hot as Hell and humid as the outside of a glass of water on a hot summer day, the sun was golden and brilliant.

Who knew that Hillbilly Hell could be so pretty sometimes? Definitely not me.

Ugh, I wish that I had a portable air conditioner. Or a fan. A fan that sprays water on you. I need one of those. I'd fill it with ice, which would melt in ten seconds flat, and spray me with icy cold water. Ooh, just the thought of it is giving me shivers.

It was just at that moment that I noticed a dark blue cooler in the back of the truck. It called to me like a bird would sing a song to it's mate. I just couldn't resist. Before I even knew what I was doing, my hands were grappling for the latch that opened it. Somehow I had managed to climb into the tall bed of the truck in just a few seconds flat, almost hugging the cooler. I could just imagine the shining ice... the misty condensation steaming off of it... the icy, freezing temperature on my dry and hot hands...

I finally managed to loosen the handle and I threw the lid open, my mouth watering. There, before me, was the most beautiful thing I had ever laid eyes on. There, right in front of me, was a cooler FULL TO THE LID of clean ice with distributed bottles of Budweiser, bottled water, and Gatorade. I grabbed a bottle of Dasani water and ripped off the cap like a mad woman, chugging half of the bottle within ten seconds. I only stopped for a breath, then continued where I'd left off, finishing the drink in record time. Take that, Genis Book of World Records!

I almost stuck my face into the icy cold goodness, feeling the little droplets of water radiate cold onto my face. I wanted to _become_ an ice cube right now. This Louisiana heat was unbearable.

"What are you doing?" came a sudden voice, almost frightening me. I had been so wrapped up in my icy paradise that I hadn't noticed Chad coming out of the shack and watching my little... _episode_... with wide eyes. His blue eyes were staring at me like I had broken into his bedroom or something instead of a drink cooler.

"Um," I pretended to contemplate for a moment, looking at the empty water bottle in my hand, "getting some water?"

"Well, hurry, put the top back on!" he yelled at me, appearing behind me with breathtaking speed and slamming the lid back onto the cooler. "That ice _cannot_ melt."

"What? I can't enjoy the ice for a second? It's so freaking hot out here!"

"If you let the ice just sit there in the sun, it's all gonna melt," he said to me in a 'duh' tone, rolling his eyes and crossing his arms. "Then no more 'enjoying the ice' because it'll all be melted." I couldn't think of a witty comeback off of the top of my head, so I settled for just sticking my tongue out at him. He sighed at me and shook his head, hopping out of the back of the truck, making it jolt and uplift slightly, muttering. "City chicks..."

"What's that supposed to mean?" I demanded.

He didn't answer me. All Chad did was just sigh and roll his eyes, going back into the shed to get more wood or some other material that I really don't care about. I repeated my question, louder this time, but he still chose to completely ignore me. Fine. Two can play at that game. _Unless_... that's his plan from the beginning, trying to use reverse phsycology on me. By making me think that I could out-ignore him, I would shut my mouth and be quiet, therefore giving him what he wanted.

Well, we just _can't have that_, now, can we? Insert smirk here.

"What was that little comment that you made under your breath?" I asked him once he immerged from the building full of crap once more. "You seem to think that just because I'm a California girl, I can't do anything right."

He sat down the lumber inside the truck bed a little harder than necessary, looking up at me with a sparing glance. "I never said that you couldn't do _anything_ right. All I'm sayin' is that you can't do any of _this_ right. You might break a nail."

He said that like it was something to _joke_ about!

"I can do anything that I set my mind to," I informed this poor, misguided hillbilly. "California girls are awesome. There's a reason Katy Perry wrote a song about us."

He just snorted and shook his head. "You're just provin' my point."

"Wrong!" I blared, jumping down from the back of his pickup, trying to do it gracefully and not fall down in the sticky mud. I succeeded—barely. "How hard can it be to lift some wood?"

_Very hard_, the lazy voice inside of my head told me. My whole personal goal for the day was to avoid work, so _why_ was I arguing the case that I knew how to without any problem? I guess that I am just so determined to be right all of the time that I just couldn't leave well enough alone. I'm a bitch, what can I say?

"Then why ain't _you_ the one going in that there shed and dragging out all of this lumber?" he questioned me, smug with brows raised. My blood boiled slightly under that stare.

"Because..." I pitched, "_you_ are supposed to be my boss, and _you_ are the one who told me to stay out here and let _you_ do the work."

"Yeah, because you freaked out over a stupid little baby lizard!"

"It could have _killed me_!"

"The only thing lizards can kill is flies!" Chad exploded, then quickly stepped back from me, running a hand through his hair anxiously. It was as if he was afraid that he crossed some invisible line. I personally didn't see what the big deal was. We were just arguing like we have since the moment I got here. I guess he thought he offended me or something, but little did he know how much yelling I dealt with at home. "Look..." he said in a much softer tone, "just... go wait in the truck. Turn the air on and just sit down in there. I'm almost done anyway."

This kind gesture took me off guard. I was speechless for a quarter of a second—and that's saying a lot for me. I opened my mouth to say something, but decided against it and did as I was told for once in my life. I closed the door and rolled all of the windows up, cranking the AC up to full power and letting the cold air completely ingulf the inside of the truck. I was beginning to sweat a little bit out there... and _that_ is unacceptable. I don't sweat. I glisten.

I watched him load the remainder of construction materials—at least I think that's what they were—into the back. I almost yelled unhappily at him when he had to open the door to get in the driver's seat because he was letting out all of the cold air, but when I saw the look on his face, I held my tongue.

It was going to be a long day.


	8. Chapter 8

**C H A D**

I sighed as I let the hot water run over my body, wishing that all of my issues and all of my problems would just wash away with the dirt. The bottom of my back was aching with stress, it wasn't easy for me to smile, and my head was pounding. I sort of felt like you do right before you get sick, but I know that I'm not getting ill. My problem is right across the hallway, on her laptop.

Allison Munroe.

It's amazing how quickly that girl can drain the life out of you. It's like she's just a... a black hole that sucks every happy thought, every joyful emotion, right out of you! I could tell what she was doing today. She thought she had me fooled... I mean, really, how dumb do I look? I graduated high school! I have a damn diploma! Those tricks she was trying to pull on me, a five year-old could see right through those! Trying to seduce and charm her way out of work. I hate to break it to her, but she could jump on top of me and I'd still make her work. That's my job. That's what I'm getting paid for.

Who the hell does she think she is? Seriously. Rich people just... they just get me so pissed off! They think just because they own a lot of property that they own the world. That they own everyone in it. That they can manipulate everyone into doing whatever they want. It's disgusting! If I wasn't a classic Southern gentleman, I'd go in there and give her a piece of my mind!

Oh, you can bet that I'll talk to her about today, though. I'll try and stay calm—_try—_but I can't promise anything. I let the soap wash around my face, run down my shoulders, my back, my abs. It escaped down by legs, carrying the dirt with it, and sucked down the silver drain.

With regret, I sighed and cut off the water. The shower immediately stopped and I quickly started to shiver. I pulled open the shower curtain, grabbed my towel, and began to dry myself. After I finished tousling my hair with it, I wrapped it around my waist. I ran my fingers through my hair a few times, too lazy to brush it. I cleaned my face and stared at myself in the mirror. I needed a shave soon.

I turned to pull open the door, but what—or _who—_I opened it to surprised the hell out of me.

"Oh, shit!"

"Oh my god!"

There stood Allison, a look of utter surprise on her face, her knuckle raised as if to knock on the door. Her face was flushed with just a hint of red under her jawbone. She looked completely flustered. As for me, I was about to freak out until I remembered that I had a towel around my... well, I was covered.

"I... I was going to ask when you were going to finish," she scrambled, and I could tell she was struggling to keep her eyes on my face. I couldn't help but smirk just a smidgen. "But, uh..." cue the wandering eyes "I—I see that you're done!"

"Yeah, yeah, I'm done," I nodded casually, my nonchalant-ness obviously making her more embarrassed. I had to admit, this was fun! "You gotta shower?"

"Um... yeah, I need to shower..." she muttered, eyes not meeting mine.

I smiled, trying to act flirty just for the sake of the situation. I wasn't uncomfortable in the least, and she appeared as if she was about to explode. This is the happiest I've felt all day! If taking advantage of the situation and completely mortifying her makes me a bad person, then hey... I'm a bad person.

"Our faucet turns a little weird... need me to show you how to work it?" I asked, gripping the waistline of the towel, as if it was about to fall and my hand was the only thing holding it up. Now she made sure that she kept her eyes on my face.

"No!" she exclaimed indignantly, now realizing how I was milking our current dilemma. "I... I think I can figure out how to work a water faucet on my own, thanks!" She looked more angry now, but not any less embarrassed. Point for Chad.

Before I could say anything else, she rushed by me and slammed the bathroom door in my face. Aggravation started to itch at my skin, but I pushed it down after realizing that it was actually really funny. All she did was show me that I won!

I sighed and leaned against the wall beside the door, listening to the tub water beginning to cut on. It sounded like just a little trickle, though. I smirked as I heard the metal being twisted and turned, even banged on. I crossed my arms, my towel pretty secure. Now I just waited to be proved right.

Five whole minutes passed before the door cracked open reluctantly, all that was visible was her eye and nose.

"You're still standing out there, aren't you?"

"Yup."

Silence.

"Can you..." her tone changed mid-question "...you—you broke the faucet!"

I rolled my eyes. I almost got her to admit that she was wrong, but I should've known that she'd find some way to make it sound like it wasn't her fault. In her rich little world, she never did wrong. She was blameless. The rich could almost never admit that they were wrong. It showed weakness.

"Allison!" I groaned her name in exasperation. I know that I should be smug, since I know that what she's doing is just her defense for knowing she was wrong... but nevertheless, she is irritating the everliving _crap_ out of me. Even with something as little and insignificant as a shower faucet! She couldn't stand to admit to something as stupid as_ tha_t? … I guess it's the principle of the thing.

"What? Don't get mad at me for something _you_ did!"

Now she was starting to make me mad. "It's a dumb _water faucet_, Allison. Don't pull this. Just admit that you don't know how to work it, and I'll go in and fix it for you."

"I know how to work a fau—"

"I'm sure you do. But not that one, huh?"

She shut the door in my face once again. She was so competitive about everything! She couldn't be wrong, she couldn't get dirty, she couldn't get sweaty, she couldn't lose an argument. It's completely ridiculous! What is she, five?

"Alright. Fine. Be that way!" I chuckled through the door. "But good luck getting that shower started without me!"

She stuck her hand out of the door for only a moment, enough to send me a... signal. An unpleasant signal. One that made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up in anger. Whatever. She can sit in there all night and sleep in there if she wants to, I'm not doing anything for her spoiled ass! Until she can act her freaking age, she can forget any assistance from me. I told her so too. She needs to act her age, not her shoe size. All I heard was a huff and nothing else. I rolled my eyes again, muttered some unpleasant things under my breath, and walked to my room. She can rot in there for all I care, with that attitude.

Two hours went by, and I almost forgot all about it, playing Black Ops on my tiny TV. I said a word that doesn't bear repeating when I was shot in the back unexpectedly. I hated to admit it, but I sucked at this game. I really really did. I was almost somewhat thankful when a knock came to my door that made me pause it. Thank the Lord, I needed a breather before I punched a hole in my wall.

Almost completely forgetting that Allison was even at my house, I still hadn't bothered to put a shirt on. All I had on were some old basketball shorts I had leftover from senior year. When I opened the door to see her standing there, still dry, I remembered the problem. She looked defeated and extremely irritated, only stopping for a second to stare at my chest and then put on the bratty mask again.

"Fine. You were right. The faucet is weird. I can't get it started. Help, please." Her voice was monotone and she was staring at the ceiling as if she was talking to someone far below her. This made me bristle.

"That hardly sounded convincing."

She sighed and stomped her foot like a child. "Come on, Chad! I feel gross! Every night I shower at exactly seven o'clock sharp, and its nine! NINE! Now my whole schedule is thrown off!"

I rolled my eyes at this ridiculous logic. "And who's fault is that?"

She shut up quickly and stared at the hardwood floor under her bare feet. She took a deep breath, as if she was about to do something like jumping out of a plane or diving off of a twenty foot diving board. She looked up at me like a pitiful puppy.

"Chad. I'm sorry I'm such a bitch." Silence. I rose my eyebrows as a signal to go on. She whined. "The faucet is a stupid thing to argue over, and I guess today just sucked ass so much that I felt like aggravating you. I still feel like aggravating you. But I need to shower. So, you were right, please help me."

I tried to smile, realizing that was the closest thing to a heartfelt apology that I was going to get. I walked into the hall and trudged towards the bathroom, pushing open the shower curtain and fixing the faucet within ten seconds. I left an irritated, open-mouthed, and somewhat thankful Allison behind me as I went back to my Black Ops match.


	9. Chapter 9

**ALLISON**

Seriously, _what_ is his problem?

How hard would it be to just admit that I'm right and he's wrong? If there was something wrong with this faucet handle, he wouldn't be able to get the shower started either. I've tried multiple times to turn on this shower, and it refuses to budge. There is no 'special way' that you have to wiggle the handle or anything stupid like that. So, I am coming to only one conclusion.

He broke it.

It was working fine before he got in here, I'm sure. Gasp! I bet he broke it just to inconvenience me. I could see him doing something like that, just to fill a sick desire to see me squirm and ask for his help. Well, he's not getting anything out of me! He can get that out of his blonde head right now.

I informed him of the current problem, and he had the _audacity_ to say that I was lying! Can you believe that? _Me_? I had to hold my ground and let him know that I wasn't just some pushover that he could play with and manipulate as he wanted. I am more important than that. If anything, I am a much more important person to this world than he is! If anyone should be manipulating _anyone_, it should be me to him!

I know that some might say that I'm being selfish and conceited, but I mean, really. That's just something people say when they feel inferior and need to lash out.

I sat in that dirty, cheap, tiny bathroom for I don't even know how long! I sat on the floor, too afraid to sit on the toilet even with the lid down, and crossed my arms in determination. He wasn't getting any kind of apology from me! None at all!

_**Two Hours Later**_

That's it. I have to go apologize.

This floor is filthy, I've been sitting on it for two hours so my tailbone is killing me, and I feel nasty! After all of that hard work I did today, I am just gross! Not to mention, my entire day-to-day schedule is thrown off now. You see, I shower every night at exactly seven o'clock sharp. This allows my naturally gorgeous hair enough time to dry without totally soaking my pillow, and in turn giving me enough hours to sleep. But now that it's almost NINE FREAKING O'CLOCK, I won't be able to go to sleep until about eleven, giving my hair enough time to dry! So I'll be sleepy tomorrow. So my next few days will be insomniatic torture. Thanks a lot, Chad.

Almost unable to stand up because of my throbbing ass, I slowly made my way out of the once-locked bathroom door and into the tiny hallway. I am still adjusting to the smallness of this place. I slowly walked to Chad's room, a closed door greeting my face. I could hear the sound of gunshots and helicopters coming from the room, accompanied by words that I'd never heard come out of Chad's mouth. I guess even the most polite of people lose their manners when playing video games.

Forcing myself to raise my knuckles to knock on the door was one of the hardest parts of the whole dilemma. I hated admitting I was wrong. Hated it. It made me feel... less important. I don't like feeling that way. Important people are always right. That's one of the few things my parents taught me.

Those three dreaded knocks against the door rang in my unhappy ears. A look of complete dissatisfaction was on my face. The door opened and Chad was standing there, shirtless.

For about five seconds, I forgot why I was there.

Oh, shut up! Stop smirking!

I made myself look up to his eyes, which were looking very blue, I noted, and I stated my purpose. I felt like a general crossing the battle line and surrendering, white flag and all. I can't put into words how much I freaking hate this.

I took a deep breath and did the best that I could in this unfair situation. "Fine. You were right. The faucet is weird. I can't get it started. Help, please." My voice was dull and void of emotion.

Chad leaned against his door post with his arms crossed, making his biceps bigger. I had to bite my lip to keep my concentration on the problem at hand. He gave me a look. "That hardly sounded convincing."

Ugh, doesn't he know that he totally screwed up my week? I sighed and stomped my foot in aggravation. "Come on, Chad! I feel gross! Every night I shower at exactly seven o'clock sharp, and its nine! NINE! Now my whole schedule is thrown off!"

He rolled his eyes at me which made me bristle. "And who's fault is that?"

Fine! I give up! This is hopeless! I'm not going to get through his thick skull no matter how much I try or how much I'm right! You just can't tell poor people anything! "Chad. I'm sorry I'm such a bitch." I waited on his reaction, hoping that'd be enough. His face said differently. ""The faucet is a stupid thing to argue over, and I guess today just sucked ass so much that I felt like aggravating you. I still feel like aggravating you. But I need to shower. So, you were right, please help me."

He gave me a sort of half-smile, but it looked extremely forced, and he walked past me to the bathroom. I had to jog to keep up with his pace.

I couldn't believe my eyes. He tapped it once with his balled fist to loosen up the medal, then he continuously turned it to the left. For a while no water came out, and then I could hear it start to rush through the pipes. The water began to flow, and then he adjusted the hot water for me. He pulled up the medal stick on the top of the waterspout, and the shower began to pour steadily, steam rising from it.

He turned around, gave me a look that made my jaw drop, and he strutted out of the bathroom like he just won a million dollars or something. I huffed, shut the door, took my clothes off, and stepped into the warm water.

I wasn't wrong. I wasn't wrong. I wasn't wrong.

Okay, okay, maybe... possibly... it's conceivable... that I MIGHT—and that's a big might—have been slightly incorrect about the water faucet. But I can guarantee, that's not going to happen again. I'm just normally never wrong. It's not in my nature.

As the hot water rolled over me, I sighed and closed my eyes. Now that that whole stupid situation was over with, I let my mind wander. Upon further inspection, I was starting to think that maybe my 'genius' plan to escape work today wasn't so genius. With the way he was acting tonight, I'm fairly certain that Chad saw right through it. I wracked my brain for another alternative to escape the dirt and the grime.

...

...

...

Well, I've got nothing.

What does that mean? That I'm actually going to have to... gulp... _work_? Wear an old t-shirt and baggy shorts and get my manicured hands dirty? Put my hair up in a messy bun and wear... _no makeup_? Get sticky and hot and sweaty? I don't _do_ sweat!

But then again, I'm ten times smarter and better than Chad anyway, right? And he can do it every day! So how hard can it be? Oh, who am I kidding, it'll be very hard! He grew up in the hillbilly way of life, all of the hard work, working for what you want, being unhygienic and disgusting. He's simply gotten used to it. I grew up like a normal person! I spent my life inside, being catered to by whoever I wanted to get me whatever I wanted whenever I wanted it. The only time I would go outside was to tan and/or take a swim in our massive pool. Me and nature just don't get along.

I guess I have no choice.

I'll have to... *cue horror movie music here* DO MANUAL LABOR!

It'll be so hot and gross outside! I'll be wet and hot and smell bad and be sticky and red in the face and look ugly and my skin will be oily and my pores will get clogged! Chad's lucky, at least he can take his shirt off. I can't exactly get away with that. Well... if it'd get me out of work, I'd maybe... no, no, Allison, you're better than that.

Maybe him taking his shirt off while he worked could be a small consolation prize for me. Alright, I'll admit it, his body is gorgeous. His skin is a light gold, he has a six pack and his arm muscles are contoured and muscular. And when he was still wet from getting out of the shower, good god. I'm pretty sure that my train of thought almost completely left me. His face wasn't too bad either. He had white, straight teeth. Dirty blonde hair that was almost getting long enough to flip out of his eyes, and blue eyes that just were the deepest shade of blue you'd ever see.

But that's where my admiration for him ended.

As far as his personality and slight Southern accent, I wasn't a fan.

As for his work ethic and determination to make _me_ get a work ethic, I _definitely _wasn't a fan.

I guess I'll just have to stare at his abs to get through the day. That's the only thing I'll be able to bear looking at, after all. If I stare at the dirty stuff I'm touching, if I even look at myself in the mirror, I'll die. I just know I will. I'll just drop dead and die. Which right now, isn't sounding like such a terrible idea.

Bring on the abs.

* * *

><p><strong>Hey, guys! I am so sorry that I've been gone for so long. I wrote two chapters in two days to try and make up for it. Even though I know that I'll never really be able to fully make up for it. I just want to say that I'm really really sorry! I started at a new school, and I got involved in their theatre program and lots of academic things, I made a lot of new friends, I even got a boyfriend, which I'd never had before, and suddenly I was ten times busier than I've ever been. On top of that, I'd started losing ideas for this story and I just couldn't get motivated to sit down at a computer and type. That pesky thing called writer's block hit me and it hit me hard :( I am so sorry. I'll try really hard to update more. I am leaving for Destin on Saturday and then school starts back for me on the seventh, so I don't know how busy I'll be. I'll do my best not to forget about the story. I love you guys! And if you're still reading this, thank you for not giving up on me. I'll try not to let you down!<strong>

**Be awesome and review for me? :P**

**~ChAnNyObSeSsEd**


	10. Chapter 10

**CHAD**

I woke up that next morning in an abnormally chipper mood. Considering the stupid-as-hell argument I had last night with Allison, this was especially weird. I even woke up before my alarm clock went off—an hour before, actually—so I had to do something with my spare time. I decided to get up and make breakfast. Since I'd gotten up earlier than normal, my dad was still home before heading off to work. I mostly just wanted to make a little something for him, since the man was not blessed with the gift of cooking. I always hoped when he tasted my food that he might realize something was wrong with his, but I was never so lucky.

I sleepily reached into the fridge and pulled out four eggs. I got out four pieces of white bread and cut a small hole in the middle. I evenly spread butter over the surface and plopped it into the skillet. It sizzled and a delicious smell that woke me up drifted to my nose. I broke an egg into the center of the hole in the bread. I was suddenly reminded that it's a good idea to wear a shirt when you cook, because a few drops of hot grease splashed onto my stomach and made me jump in pain. I murmured a curse, but was too lazy to go put on a shirt.

I've made these enough to be able to listen to the sizzling sounds and know when it was time to flip the bread. I carefully slipped my spatula underneath the bread, lifted it into the air, and quickly flipped it over, careful not to break the yolk. I love when the yolk is runny and ran all over the bread when you broke into it. Once it was done, I slipped it onto a plate. It was beautiful and golden. Thank you, Momma, for teaching me how to cook! If only she'd taught Dad...

As if on cue, Dad came walking out of his bedroom, rubbing his eyes and yawning. His eyes struggled to adjust to the light, but I doubt his nose struggled to adjust to the smell.

"Hey! You makin' eggs in a nest?"

"Sure am," I replied shortly, placing another piece of buttered bread into the skillet.

"What would I do without you?" he chuckled, slapping me on the back and taking his plate. "Now I don't have to get anythin' vacuum-packed outa those stupid machines at work."

Dad hated snack machines. He thinks they're the reason why he's overweight. That didn't stop him from getting stuff out of them, though.

"How'd you sleep?" I asked him, for the sake of conversation. He just shrugged.

"Eh," he grunted. "As usual."

I'd started worrying about him a little lately. He didn't ever really seem to sleep anymore. And it could just be a trick of the light, but I suspect he's maybe gained a few pounds as well.

"Have you thought about going to the doctor any?" I asked a little feebly.

A look came across my dad's face that was all too familiar. It wasn't exactly a pleasant look either.

"Now, Chad, you _know_ how I feel about doctors..."

I sighed in exasperation. Ever since my mom died, my dad has never really trusted doctors. She went to the doctor when she'd started losing a lot of weight, and started losing her appetite. They said that she had breast cancer, and that we were lucky, they think they'd "caught it early enough". They put her through hell with chemo and all kinds of medicines.

Needless to say, it didn't work.

The doctors had assured my dad that they had it under control. Ever since, he's never trusted them. They didn't keep his soul mate alive, and that's all he knew. That's all he cared about.

"I know, I know," I said under my breath. "But Dad—"

"No 'buts', Chad," he cut me off sternly. "I ain't goin' to no doctor. They don't know what the hell they're doin'."

"I'm worried about you, though," I shook my head. "You ain't sleeping, you've been gaining weight, you're getting bags under your eyes and you always complain about your back hurting after you eat."

"I don't care," he shooed away my concerns. "I'm fine! It's just work is all... it's just stress. I think I just need a vacation."

I didn't deny that. It was true. He was a workaholic, but I honestly had a feeling that there was more to it than just stress. I didn't keep pushing the subject, though. He was as stubborn as a mule. He didn't want to do something, so he wasn't gonna do it. That was always the "end of it".

He grabbed another eggs in a nest and walked out the door with a short wave to me. He was upset I'd brought it up. I knew he would be.

I disdainfully spread butter on another piece of bread and threw it into the skillet a little harder than necessary. Who could blame me? I'm worried about my dad's health, and he just blows it off! I've already lost one parent, I'm not ready to lose another.

I looked at the clock on the microwave. The bright green numbers reminded me with a shock that it was five o'clock. Allison and I needed to be at work in about an hour! And considering how long she takes to get ready, she needed to get up _now_. I flipped the last of breakfast on a plate and poured a glass of orange juice, carrying it back towards her room with me. Maybe at the smell of food, she would get up. I don't want to resort to the water bucket again, since that went _so_ well the first time.

Don't get me wrong, though, I'll do it if I have to. More fun for me.

I knocked on her door. No response came.

"Allison!" I said, wracking my knuckles against the door again. "Get up! Gotta go to work!"

An irritated groan met my ears as a reply. I struggled with the doorknob. She'd locked it this time, apparently learning from the ice water thrown on her last time. She was kidding herself if she didn't think I knew how to pick a lock in my own house, though.

"I can pick this lock, you know that right?" I called smugly. No response. I sighed. "Allison, look. That fight we had last night was stupid, and even though _I_ shouldn't be apologizing, I made you breakfast as a peace offering. We can do this the easy way, where you open the door and get some breakfast, or we can do this the hard way... where I pick the lock, and the eggs end up in your hair instead of in your stomach. Your choice."

It was only a matter of seconds before I heard the bed squeak and footsteps across the room. Her voice was suddenly directly by the door.

Her voice was crackly from sleep. "You _swear_ that you have food?"

She obviously thought that I was trying to trick her to dump the ice water on her again.

I sighed. "_Yes_, Allison, I promise I have food."

I heard a click and her face appeared between the crack of the door frame and the door. She peered down at the plate of food in my hands. I smiled fakely and rose my eyebrows, lifting the plate suggestively. She returned my fake smile, opening the door and all of the way and taking the plate of food. She looked down at it, and the smile faded from her face. Oh, boy, here we go.

"No, my dad didn't make it," I said immediately.

"I don't care who made it," she said. "What is this?"

"It's eggs in the middle of toasted bread with butter. My mom used to make it. It's really good."

Her turned her lip up at it.

"Oh."

"Look," I said a little angrily, "if you don't want it, I'll take it and I'll eat it, and you won't get to eat until 1:30. Your choice." I reached out for the plate, but she drew it back.

"Fine! Fine! I'll eat it," she gave in, turning around and sitting on the edge of her bed with the plate in her lap. I crossed my arms and leaned against the door frame, watching. Just as the first bite was heading towards her mouth, she looked up at me and put the fork back down. I frowned. "You know, it's rude to stare. Don't you have something better to do? Like getting _dressed_?"

"What?" I feigned innocence, spreading out my arms. I looked down at my body in gym shorts and no shirt. "I'm wearing clothes!"

"Get _fully_ dressed."

I flexed my arms for fun. I enjoyed the small blush that rose at the bottom of her face. "I figured you liked the view."

She rolled her eyes and looked back down at her plate, picking her fork back up. Hey, she didn't deny it! I take solace in that.

I watched her take her first bite, and she chewed it slowly. I couldn't read her face. I'm guessing that she couldn't hate it, because if it was gross, she would say so. And she definitely would do all she could not to compliment me, so I'm guessing that she likes it, but she refuses to acknowledge that I'm a decent cook. No compliments for me.

"How is it?" I urged. She still didn't look at me, just staring at the food. She took a second bite, and that was enough to answer for me. "Well, you aren't grimacing. And you took a second bite, so it can't be that bad."

"Or I'm just trying to see if it's really as gross as I think it is," she shot back, but it was weak.

"You like it!" I grinned.

"It's _O.K._," she said slowly, taking another bite, but I could see what she really thought. She loved it. Or at least didn't hate it, and that was good enough for me. Maybe this could be the start of a raising white flag between us. Life would be a lot easier if she would be less of a bitch.

Pffft! Who am I kidding? She'll be a decent person when pigs fly.

* * *

><p><strong>ALLISON<strong>

Oh my gosh. I love this. So much.

But Chad will never know that. He can't. Or he'll find some way to hold it over my head. Sure, it might sound stupid and immature of me, but it's true. He'll find _some_ way to hold eggs over my head.

He surprised me by sitting down beside me on the small bed. With his shirt off, I felt a little uncomfortable. He sighed and put his hands together, resting his elbows on his knees.

"My mom used to make those, so... I'm just hoping mine aren't awful," he laughed lightly, but there was a heaviness to it. I suddenly felt really awkward.

"Oh." That was all I could get to come out. I felt awful for my lack of conversation. This is the first real trace of guilt I've felt around him. "Did your parents get divorced or something?" I laughed. "I _wish_ my parents would get divorced."

"No, no, she passed away a few years back," he said quietly. My heart dropped in my chest. Now I felt _really_ guilty.

"Oh," I said again, but this time my tone was completely different. Some eggs fell out of my mouth and onto my plate. I mumbled an apology and covered up my mouth. But to my surprise, he was smiling.

"Relax," he smiled at me. "You know what you need? To loosen up. I'm not gonna bite."

I suddenly realized what he meant. I'd subconsciously scooted away from him without realizing it, leaning away slightly with my head down. _Maybe_ he had a point.

I was silent, unsure of what to say. This is the first time he and I had really had a civil conversation. I felt guilty that the only time I knew what to say was when I was being a bitch and trying to take a shot at him.

"Yeah," I said pitifully, just trying not to be awkwardly silent. He caught my drift and stood up, walking out of my room. He turned at my door and looked back at me, smirking. I looked down at my plate and noticed that it was empty. I mustered up a smile and held out the plate to him. "Done."

He took it and gave me a small grin, walking out to the kitchen. I shut my door and smiled to myself. Maybe he wasn't _always_ so bad.

My smile faded when I looked at the old t-shirt and shorts laid out for me to wear, reminding me of the awful things I would have to do—to _touch—_today. Here we go.

* * *

><p><strong>I. AM. SO. SORRY. I know it's been forever. I am just so so busy. I'm NOT giving up on this story, I promise. Review and tell me any ideas that you have for this story, because I'm running a little short. I have a main plot idea for this, but I still need help! Thanks, guys. And again, I'm really sorry. Have a Merry Christmas, Happy Hanukkah, etc. Love you guys!<strong>


	11. Chapter 11

**Hey everybody! I know you're all wanting a kiss, but don't rush it! They kind of almost hate each other at this point, a kiss wouldn't be natural! But don't worry, it'll happen! Thanks for reading :)**

* * *

><p><strong>ALLISON<strong>

I sighed, staring outside of the pickup truck passenger window at the blur of greens and mud that I'm assuming are trees. My eyes watched the random houses that popped up out of nowhere, bored and blurred with thought. I wasn't really paying attention to anything... I was too busy wishing, thinking, and wanting. Wishing to have a family that made _me_ breakfast in the morning. Thinking of how much I don't belong here... and _wanting_. Wanting to go home. Back to my friends. Back to money. Back to Consuela.

I still couldn't believe that my mom was cutting off all of my lines of communication with my favorite person in the world. It's like, she _knows_ that Consuela would help keep me strong and keep me from being completely miserable. But _no_, Mom, I just am not allowed to be happy, am I? The one woman in the world who comforts me, who loves me, who would do anything for me, is forbidden to speak to me in my most desperate time of need. I'm stuck in a strange, dirty place with even stranger, dirtier people, for who knows how long, and I'm all alone. Completely and totally alone.

Ever since I was small, Consuela was there for me. She knew. She knew that my parents didn't give a fraction of a crap about me and what I do, I was just their little 'angel'. They needed an image of a perfect family, and they needed a beautiful, well-rounded, behaving daughter. It completed the image of perfection, of what everyone wanted. Dad grew up here and he didn't have much. He was _obsessed_ with having every single thing that he never had as a child—and making sure everyone else knew it.

Consuela came to my soccer games, voice recitals, open houses at school. People even asked me if she was my mother. At first, I'd say, "_no_, that's my nanny!". Now, I just shake my head and think, "I _wish_ she was my mother."

I needed her right now. I really did. I needed somebody. Anybody. I don't just feel alone here and now, I've always felt alone. But now, I do especially.

"Hey."

Chad's voice jolted me out of my thoughts. I jumped slightly but didn't turn to look at him. I didn't want to. I was shut in my own little world, I guess.

"You O.K.?" he asked me quietly. "You're... a little more... quiet than usual."

I could see his point. At this time in the drive to wherever we were going, I would normally be flirting excessively and trying to scheme up a way out of work. But I haven't flashed any extra skin, I haven't said a word, I hadn't batted an eyelash. I was just silent... staring at the mediocre scenery rushing by.

"Oh," I murmured dismissively, "yeah. Sure."

"You don't really sound like it," he said as-a-matter-of-factly. "You don't really sound like anything actually. You're not talking."

"Yeah, there's a reason for that," I stated a little rudely, turning as far away from him as the car seat would allow. I shouldn't be taking this out on him, but I want to be alone. Whenever I think about this, I get in a bad mood.

Chad seemed to ignore my snap at him. "You aren't insulting my state. Or my town. Or me. Or trying to get out of work. Or flirting to get out of work. What's wrong with you?"

"It's personal," I deadpanned, staring dully at a fly that was struggling to climb up the window outside. I hoped that it fell off. Here's a lesson that everyone would do well to go by:

_Life sucks, and then you die_.

I just hope that fly gets put out of its misery, since I couldn't. I tapped the glass lightly with my nail where the bug was hanging on for dear life, hoping it would be surprised and let go. I wish I could let go, I thought.

"Alright, alright, I gotcha," he said, tone a little taken aback. "Just trying to help. Sorry."

I felt a little bad, but I didn't say anything. That fly wouldn't fall off no matter how much I tried, so I just stared at my nasty, ugly shoes. Ew. Chad went out the other day and bought me some cheap working clothes, much to my disgust. I looked at them and just couldn't believe that people actually wore these by _choice_. He's lucky that he got me to wear them at all.

"Ya know," he said suddenly out of nowhere, which slightly took me by surprise, "if you don't want to be completely miserable for the next few months, I suggest that you try and be a little less... cut off. We're going to be working almost every day together for the next four months, and it'll make things a lot easier if we can communicate without biting each other's head off, ya know?"

I knew by 'we' he meant me. I didn't blame him, either. But I wasn't about to tell him that he was right... I'm just _really_ not in the mood to see any form of a smirk on his face. I might just slap it right off.

Oh, look, I've only been down here a couple of days and I'm already becoming violent and uncivilized like the locals. Just lovely.

"I don't _want _to fight with you," he continued, even though the look on my face clearly demanded silence. "I think that we probably have some misconceptions of each other. I think you're a stuck up brat who takes everything for granted with a bitchy attitude—" I gaped at him "—and you think I'm some uneducated hillbilly who doesn't own any shoes or know how to cook anything I didn't run over with my car." It was almost creepy how accurate he was. "But those thoughts are just gonna make life Hell for both of us, ya know? So if we can act civilized and treat each other like human beings, I think that you might not hate it as much as you think you do. And... I might not hate this job as much as I do right now."

I had to admit, as much as I hated it, that Chad had a point. It _would_ be Hell no matter how much we hated or didn't hate each other, but it might be a little _cooler_ version of it if we could get along.

"I'll _try_ to contain myself," I finally mumbled after a long silence. "But I can't make any promises."

He took a deep breath and sighed. "Well, that's a start."

* * *

><p>"So, what gross thing are we doing today? Cleaning out another shed? Killing and gutting some defenseless animal? Lifting a bunch of pointless junk?"<p>

Chad sent me a look, and I quickly realized that I was already breaking my resolution twenty minutes after making it. I sent an apologetic look, and I was going to apologize too, but I couldn't get it to come out.

"Actually, none of that 'gross' stuff," he mimicked my tone. As we got out of the truck, Chad walked ahead of me towards the building where Uncle John's office was. A barn that actually looked decently pretty was set apart from it to the left. In front of it were set out at least fifteen boats, all bare wood. I already had an idea of what we were doing today. Surprisingly, I usually wouldn't have too many complaints about painting... if it wasn't for the fact that it felt like 200 degrees outside! I was working up a sweat just standing here.

Chad came walking out with countless pails of paint stacked in his arms. He placed them all out in a row in front of me, dumping handfuls of brushes by my feet. I stared at them on the ground, then looked up at him quizzically. He rose his eyebrows indifferently.

"Don't tell me I have to explain to you what to do," he said, his tone exasperated and a little demeaning. I glared at him.

"No!" I exclaimed resentfully. "I know what to do! I'm not _that_ deprived; I know how to paint!"

Any fool could paint—the trick for me was getting the lid off of the paint can and stirring it, considering the closest thing I'd done to painting was finger painting and watercolor in kindergarten. After at least five minutes of struggling to pry off the lid, Chad did it for me, his face a little too smug for my taste.

He began trying to explain to me step-by-step how to paint a boat, but I quickly dismissed him with a comment that doesn't fare for repeating. So much for the truce.

I picked up my paint brush and began to paint as best as I could under this oppressive heat. Chad stood there for a while, leaning against the side of the barn... just watching me. Pointing out the _second_ I messed up on anything at all. I bit my tongue so hard a couple of times that I'm pretty sure I tasted blood on more than one occasion. But finally, after what felt like forever, he stepped away from his perch and picked up a paint brush as well, beginning to paint the boat to the right of me. I peaked at him out of the corner of my eye, amazed at his speed and how much wood he covered in so little time. He'd managed to paint in five minutes what it took me at least fifteen to do. My blood boiled with envy; I didn't like being beat like that. I didn't like losing.

I started to speed up, doing my best not to do a crappy job, yet not be as particular as I had previously been. I caught him glancing over at me, noticing my attempt to match his pace, and then he sped up even more! But as his speed increased, it didn't look rushed or clumsy at all. He was covering the wood just as well as he would if he were hardly moving the brush. My arms ached as I did my best not to be out-shined.

It wasn't long before my arms were _killing_ me, every muscle and every joint seizing and tightening. I tried switching arms, but that only worked for a few seconds before I began to cramp in that arm too. I looked over at Chad again, but he wasn't looking at me. He was painting at the speed of lightening, the white liquid spreading evenly and precisely in every direction. His focus was totally on his work and nothing else, beads of sweat dripping off the end of his nose. I'm pretty sure he didn't notice, though.

At that point, I gave up. I _had_ to take a break. I wasn't built for this. I'd never done this before. The only muscle strength I had in my arms was from carrying shopping bags for long distances, but that didn't compare to hours on end of painting.

My back hurt from bending over. My wrists hurt from turning the brush. My arms hurt from moving every direction imaginable over and over again. My armpits hurt from having my arm lifted so long. And I didn't even want to _think_ about how sore I was going to be tomorrow. I wouldn't be able to dress myself!

I sat on the ground and leaned back against the barn, paint brush in hand and dripping onto the ground. My face felt hot and red; I could feel so much perspiration on my face that it felt like someone put itchy goo all over my pores. I weakly wiped at my forehead with the back of my arm, feeling my wet hair hanging pitifully across my face. I'd never felt so ugly... or so helpless. I didn't feel independent at all.

Chad leaned back to inspect his work, but he didn't sigh in tiredness or sit down for a break. All he did was murmur, "_Gosh_, it's hot," and proceed to wipe at his face and completely take off his shirt.

I can't lie. I enjoyed the view.

…

I _really_ enjoyed the view.

Now, don't get me wrong, I don't want it to come off as if I have any kind of _inkling _of a _crush_ on this backwoods boy. Trust me, I don't. He's just not bad to look at. It's like a really cute shirt you see a girl wearing who is walking down the street, or a really cute pair of heels a friend of yours just bought. Just because you think they look amazing doesn't mean you want to sucker punch them and steal them right off of your friend's feet, right? You just... enjoy the view.

The sun reflected off of his toned shoulder blades and back as his arm moved back and forth. He looked like one of those overly-oiled guys in cologne commercials. Not that I was complaining!

But suddenly, he stopped, stood upright, and spun around to look at me. The front view was just as lovely, if not more. He had an eight pack. I knew he would probably catch me staring, but at the moment, I was too tired to care.

"So, really?" he asked me, eyebrows raised. I wiped at my face again and gave him a look that mimicked his own. "Are you gonna work or are you just gonna sit there and stare at me?"

I was thankful that my face was so red already that a blush wouldn't show. "I was just gonna sit here and stare at you," I answered honestly, shrugging my shoulders. I felt my t-shirt sticking to my skin as if someone had soaked me with a hose.

My answer seemed to throw him off. I think he was expecting me to deny it and he had an argument prepared. To my surprise, I think _he_ might have been blushing a little. But I couldn't be sure. His face was pretty red, too. He seemed to struggle with words for a second, which was unlike him. It was a little funny.

"Well..." he seemed a little flustered, "I—you should really get back to work."

"But...!" I whined. "It's so hot! And we've been out here for hours without any water! I can't take much more of this!"

He gave me an exasperated look, whose demeaning effect was lost without his shirt on. Now it just looked like he was posing for a camera. "You do know we've only been out here for about twenty minutes, right?"

My eyes widened in disbelief and pain. "_No_! You've got to be kidding me! We've been out here for at least an hour!"

He shook his head. "I have to paint _something_ for your uncle at least once a week. I've learned how to time myself." He pointed up to the sky, then drew a line in the air with his finger down to a shadow on the ground. "If it had been an hour, I'd be able to tell. But these shadows haven't moved an inch. There's no way we've been out here an hour."

"Shadows don't move that much in an hour!" I defended my point.

"They don't," he nodded. "But they do enough to where I can tell. And it hasn't been an hour."

I stuck my lip out in defeat. "Well, can I _please_ at least go inside and get some cold water or something? Or go jump in a bathtub full of ice?"

"I'll soak you with the water hose if you want me to," he grinned, but there was an underlying meaning. I glanced down at my oversized white t-shirt and the thinness of it. I looked back up at him with my eyes narrowed.

"You _wish_," I seethed, standing up and heading towards the cabin that housed my uncle's office. "Pervert."

"Hey," he said innocently, raising his hands in the air like he was surrendering, "I wasn't the one staring at someone shirtless and sweaty. Just sayin'."

I glared at him, whipping my wet hair as I turned away from him, stomping towards the air-conditioned building. It was time for a break. He was too much of a work-junkie.

As soon as I opened the door, my eyes zoned in on a small mini-fridge. I ran over to it and yanked open the door, finding a holy grail of ice-cold water bottles. I grabbed two of them, viciously twisting off the top to one and chugging it as fast as I could, savoring the almost-pain of the sudden icy cold going down my hot and dry throat. I'm sure any decent person would go outside and give the other to Chad, but you see... I'm not a decent person.

I ran outside, ripped off the top, and completely soaked myself. I tipped it upside down, holding my head back and dumping it on my face, loving the way it rolled down my neck and soaked through my clothes.

I had to laugh when I caught Chad staring.

Who's the perv now?


	12. Chapter 12

**CHAD**

The water dripped from her sopping-wet t-shirt. I tore my eyes from her with some serious will-power, willing myself not to look at anything that was now made visible by the soaked shirt. Now, God wasn't only making fun of me with the heat, but he puts a smoking-hot girl in front of me to make things even more interesting for Him to watch. I guess life wasn't "exciting" enough already!

"What's the matter, Chad?" she asked me, a look of faux innocence on her face. "I'm not distracting you, am I?"

"No, of course not," I managed to say with a feeble amount of strength. I stared at my paint brush and the perfect lines that the bristles made as it streaked across the wood. "But I _do_ know one thing, and it's that someone is trying to get out of doin' work."

I watched as Allison pouted, obviously upset that her ploy to get out of work hadn't been successful. I don't know how or why she thought I was a fool, but I see right through every little thing she does. Does she not understand that I basically already know what she's going to do before she even does it?

"Well, _I_ know one thing," she tried to shoot back at me, "and that's that _someone_ wanted to soak me with the water hose earlier!"

"You have your methods of cooling off, I have mine," I shrugged playfully, splashing a little paint her way as she moodily trudged back to her station in front of the poorly-painted boat. She glared at me and at my paint splatter that was now covering the unpainted front of her boat. I don't know what she is so upset about. I just saved her, like, ten minutes of time, considering how long it takes her to paint a few inches. I smirked, keeping my eyes on her face and _nowhere else_, _Chad_. _Don't be weak_.

She shook her head at me, a few stray locks of her long hair falling from her ponytail. "You're weird, you know that?"

"Excuse me?" I asked quizzically, lowering my paint brush long enough to raise my eyebrows at her. There was no way that this California girl, completely out of her element, in the middle of bayou country, was telling me that _I'm_ weird.

"Yeah! You're weird!" she scoffed. "Any normal teenage guy—or guy period—would let a pretty girl in soaking wet clothes sit down and take a break. But _no_, you've just got to break the status quote, don't you?" She painted her boat a little more roughly than was necessary.

"Look, a pretty face doesn't get you everything you want in life," I began to tell her, but she cut me off.

"Well, that hasn't been my experience," she argued, putting her hands on her hips, stopping her painting yet again. I was going to have to finish her boat, wasn't I? "Any time I've ever asked for anything, I've gotten it. No questions asked, no scolding me, no forcing me to do unnecessary labor of any kind, I've just gotten it, because that's how life works for people like me. That's how it's _supposed_ to work, but you... you just won't give into reality and accept it."

The sheer honesty and complete belief in her voice when she said this took me aback, and I dropped the paint brush in the bucket with a loud clang. I faced her slowly, wiping the sweat from my forehead with the back of my hand. Was this truly the view that she had of the world? Was this what she _honestly_ believed what life was like? The complete naïve and ridiculous nature of what she just said was alien to her; she honestly had no idea that she had been living inside of a manicured, perfect bubble for eighteen years.

All I could manage to say was, "...You're kidding, right?" Her stare was unwavering. I couldn't help it. I just started laughing. Judging by the look on her face, it probably was insensitive of me, but I couldn't help it, and since when did she care about being considerate of my feelings? "You know that that isn't how reality works _at all_?"

"It always has for me."

"Well, maybe in California, but you're in Louisiana now," I told her, walking closer to her and making sure that she maintained eye contact with me. This is important. If there is one thing that I teach her while she is here, if there is one thing that she takes away from this entire experience, it needs to be this. "Allison, life isn't perfect. Life isn't some game that you can play, that you can manipulate, to get your way. People aren't servants that are standing around, waiting for you to snap your fingers... and if they aren't standing around waiting for you, it doesn't mean that they're stupid or that they don't know any better. Life is unfair. Life doesn't always go the way you want. Life is a crazy journey with ups and downs and twists and turns. Things get thrown at you... things that you don't want to happen, situations that you don't want to be in, and responsibilities that you have to do whether you want to or not, and you know what you do? You take a deep breath, say a quick prayer, and keep moving. So what you got sent to Louisiana? So what you don't want to be here? So what that you hate doing work and you hate the heat and the sweat and the dirt? Because you know what? In the big scheme of things, you're gonna be out of here in a few months. But while you're here, you can do one of two things. One, you can work hard, take initiative, and actually try to learn something and make your time here productive... or two, you can be miserable the whole time, make it Hell for yourself, and then go back home and things will go exactly the way they've been going your whole life. And judging from the fact that you even had to be sent here in the first place, it probably wasn't going too well, was it?" She stared at me disbelievingly, probably wondering how things went from a wet t-shirt to a life lesson. "So, what're you gonna do?" I questioned her, picking up the paint brush from the bucket at her feet and holding it out to her. "Are you gonna make the most of what you're life is right now, or are you gonna keep being a miserable person who feels the need to lash out at others to release that pent-up anger that you, for whatever reason, have built up inside of you?"

Allison didn't know what to say, her eyes questioningly searching my own. I've got to admit, that escalated quickly, but this girl needs an ultimatum. No one in her life seems to have given her anything of the sort before now, and if I've got to not only be her "boss", and her "babysitter", but her "mentor" as well, so be it. I take myself too seriously to half-ass do this, no matter how much I don't want to be here. She could stand to take a page from my book.

With her brows furrowed, her shoulders slumped, and her mouth a thin line, she slowly took the brush from my hand and started to paint the boat, without a word. No smarmy backlashes, no insults to my state or my culture or my ideas about life, no arguments, not even a flirtatious remark, but just silence. As much as I took satisfaction from the fact that I finally was able to shut her up, the silence from her was off-putting. If there was one thing that she wasn't, it was quiet.

It was then that I heard gravel crunch from behind me, wheels slowly grating the rocks. I turned to see a small, old, blue car pulling into the gravel parking lot. I smiled. Finally, a friend would be here to keep me from feeling completely exhausted and alone.

"Buford!" I smiled, greeting my friend with a quick handshake and a clap on the back. "What're you doin' out here today? Mr. John's usually got you working in the warehouses."

Buford laughed, his big belly bouncing as he did a little jig. "John let me off early today! Said I've been working more than hard enough lately and that everything was ahead of schedule." I grinned at this. Buford really was a hard worker, and it made me happy to see that Mr. John was taking notice. Who knows? Maybe he'll let me off soon! God knows that I work as hard as anyone around here, especially with a painstakingly spoiled amateur that I'm lugging around now. "Plus..." he added, his eyes wandering over my shoulder to our boss's niece, his eyes glinting, "I thought I'd come see how our new worker is faring, ya know? I want to be a friendly coworker, make sure that she doesn't need help with anything." Buford winked at me. I rolled my eyes. He had _no_ idea.

"Dude, red flag, don't go there," I murmured, putting my arm around his shoulder and walking towards the other side of the barn, making sure that I was out of Allison's earshot. I pretended that we were talking about some random shipment I made up until she couldn't hear us anymore.

"What're you talking about, man?" Buford questioned me incredulously, his eyes popping out. "Have you _seen_ her?"

"Yes, I've seen her!" I exclaimed. "And I've heard her, and put up with her, and listened to her constant complaining about anything and everything under the sun. _Trust me_, man, bro to bro, she's a handful. Crazy. You don't want any part of that."

Buford's eyes narrowed as he looked behind me towards Allison's direction, then back at me, then back to her, then back at me again. He slowly began to chuckle and punched me in the shoulder. I laughed too, although I didn't know why we were laughing.

"Hahaha, I see, man," he laughed, his chubby cheeks becoming pink with the hot summer heat and his laughter, "I see exactly what you're getting at." I sighed in relief. It was so nice to finally have someone around who understood. "You want her all for yourself."

The smile was immediately wiped from my face. I'm pretty dang sure that my face has never looked more puzzled in my entire life. It's official. Buford has officially lost it.

"Dude, are you crazy?" I laughed disbelievingly, shaking my head. I pointed over my shoulder in her direction. "I don't want any part of her for myself! She's the textbook definition of a California spoiled brat, man. It's only been about a week with her and I'm ready to pull my hair out!"

Buford winked at me. I didn't like it. "Uh huh, uh huh, _sure_." I groaned exasperatedly at his lack of empathy for me. "If you wanted me to back off, Chad, all you had to do was say so. No need to make up stories about how awful she is to drive other guys away."

I couldn't stand this. His female-deprived mind was taking over his common sense. In determination, unsure of what was about to happen, I grabbed the back of his shoulders and steered him in Allison's direction, determined to prove my point. As much as I hated putting my best friend in the line of fire, he needed to have her teeth sunken into him and his pride before he would believe me.

"Allison," I said eagerly, causing her to look up in an uninterested fashion from her painting job, "this is Buford, my hunting partner and best friend. Buford, this is—"

"Oh, I know exactly who you are," he tried to coo charmingly, taking her paint-covered hand and attempting to give it a gentle shake. Her lip curled in repulsion. Here it came. "You're an angel." She looked up at me with a look that said 'really?'. I just watched with interest, eager for her reply. "Tell me, did it hurt when you fell from Heaven?"

I tried to hide my smile by biting my lip and looking down, but it really wasn't helping much. Buford's never had a girlfriend for a reason, you know. He isn't exactly the best at smooth-talk.

"Uh..." she stammered, incredibly uncomfortable. She looked at me for help, but I smirked. I wanted her to show her true colors. I needed a guy friend to share in the suffering with me! "Actually, I... uh..." Buford watched her with puppy-like interest. She suddenly stood up straighter and her entire air completely changed. I was hoping that this was about to go in the way I hoped. "I'm not from Heaven at all, actually. I'm from California. Ya know, where we wear bikinis year round and have naked hot tub parties."

She suddenly shot a challenging glare my way at these last words, and I knew then that she knew exactly what I was doing. Shit.

Buford's ears turned red and he began to uncomfortably resemble a panting dog in heat. "Really?" he asked, loudly gulping and self-consciously running his hand through his messy hair. "Do you... uh... do you have those often?"

Incredulous at the fact that she wasn't throwing insult after insult at him (which I knew she was inwardly yearning so badly to do), she was indulging him. Even flirting back. What was going on right now? My head couldn't wrap around it. Was she determined to cause a rift between me and my best friend as some kind of form of payback, or was she simply determined that no one else know her real side so that she wouldn't have to deal with more figures hovering over her constantly? Whatever it was, I didn't care, I just wanted Buford to see what I saw.

"All the time," she grinned, putting her hands on her hips to expose her see-through t-shirt which was just now beginning to dry. The outline of her bra and the contour of her stomach were clearly visible. I tried as hard as I could not to stare like a hungry dog at her like Buford was, but my recently strong will-power was beginning to dwindle.

"Oh," my friend breathed, sweating more than he should be after being outside for a short ten minutes. My temper began to boil. This was not happening. She was not going to take advantage of girl-hungry Buford like this. It wasn't right. He was gonna think that she had some kind of interest in him and he wouldn't believe a thing I said as far as her just doing it to get under my skin. She was manipulating him to find yet another way of bugging the daylights out of me, and I wasn't going to stand for it.

"Drop the act, Allison," I snapped defensively, stepping in front of my friend and filling the gap between them. "Don't sit there and lead him on just to get to me. That isn't cool."

She innocently shrugged her shoulders. "Chad, what are you talking about? _You_ were the one who just introduced me to your friend, and I was just saying hello!" She flashed a cheesy, flashy grin over my shoulder to Buford. I didn't even have to look to know that he was smiling back. "What kind of person introduces me to someone then all of a sudden accuses me of being manipulative?" The look in her eyes was full of fire, despite her calm and sickeningly innocent tone. It clicked. She was mad at me for basically calling her a manipulative bitch earlier, more or less. I could understand her anger a lot more if it wasn't for the fact that _everything _ I said was true!

"Chad," Buford said in a confused way, stepping around me to where he could clearly see Allison again, "what's up with you, man?" As if Allison couldn't hear him, he quietly muttered to me, "Dude, you said you weren't interested in her like that, but... you're sending me mixed signals, man."

A blush rose furiously to my face as I gave him a death glare. I loved Buford, he was like a brother, but sometimes, he was just _plain stupid_. "I'm not!" I hissed through my teeth, infuriated and embarrassed all at once. Things were bad enough already. The _last_ thing Allison needed to think was that I had any trace of romantic feelings for her whatsoever, or I was doomed to months of ridicule. I refused to let myself look at her face. I didn't want to see the look of satisfaction and/or repulsion that was undoubtedly lying there as a result of Buford's latest statement of stupidity.

"What're you three up to?" A familiar voice cut through the suffocatingly thick air like a knife. I turned in relief to find Mr. John striding towards us, wearing his signature Mossy Oak cap and old work boots. I inwardly thanked God. I was about to explode from frustration.

Buford scrambled, like he always did in front of authority figures in awkward situations. "Oh, oh, nothing, Mr. John, sir! Just talking about if we... uh, need extra paint for these boats! Whoo, I just don't know if 10 cans are going to cover it, sir."

"Buford, stop kissing ass and go home and rest," Mr. John said plainly, seeing through the facade like it was glass. "I gave you the day off for a reason, not for you to come and finish Chad and Allison's work for them."

Buford hung his head and nodded, slightly embarrassed, and waved a short wave to all of us, except for Allison. He gave her a dumbly happy grin and stumbled back to his car. Mr. John took notice and his eyes shot to me, as if I was a body guard that was inevitably failing at my job. I rolled my eyes and shrugged my shoulders exasperatedly in the direction of Buford's starting car. I mean, I can do a lot of things, but I'm not a magician that can magically repel all Y chromosomes. When you have a hot girl anywhere, let alone a place like Galliano, guys flock like buzzards to a dead man. And I felt like a dead man right about now.

"Chad, can I have a word with you for just a minute?" Mr. John said unusually politely, clamping a hard hand on my shoulder. Oh, great. Now Allison has managed to get me on the bad side of two people today, one of them my employer. I nodded feebly as he steered me over to where I'd steered Buford only minutes before. "What the hell is going on, boy?" he asked me in a harsh whisper. "I glace out of my office to find Buford drooling all over my niece with you standing there like a knot on a log!" I opened my mouth to say something, but he stopped me. "Then not only that, but you bow up like you're about to punch somebody and I have to come out before things get out of hand! You're supposed to be helping Allison learn how to work, how to earn the money she gets, how to build character, protect her, _nothing else_." I suddenly realized what was going through my boss's mind; why his face was the color of a tomato. He thought that _I_ had feelings for Allison and that I was getting jealous over Buford making passes at her. I couldn't believe what was happening. I stammered out the truth to set things straight.

"Mr. John, please, it's not what you think," I spat out as quickly as I could while he still was willing to listen. "Allison has been a little... hard to deal with lately, and I was trying to explain her... _personality_ to Buford, but instead she started being very, uh... unfair to him and leading him on... and I confronted her about it, but she was acting all innocent... it wasn't—wasn't right, and then Buford thought that I... I had feelings or something, so I was trying to—"

"Chad, Chad," he cut me off, holding his hands up. "Relax! I understand. Like I said, I knew what I was doing when I chose you to look after her. I've known you since you were in diapers, Chad, and I know the kind of guy you are. You're always honest with me, and I appreciate that. That isn't something that most employers can say." A wave of relief washed over me. "However..." Uh-oh. "I also know that you are a red-blooded, normal teenage boy. And I know that she is a... red-blooded, teenage girl. And—" I don't like where this is going "—I know that sometimes, ya know, young people your age get... well, feelings... and urges that don't always have the best reasoning behind them..."

Now it was my turn to hold up my hands. "_No no no no no_, Mr. John, no, I don't have _any_ kind of... feelings or—or _urges_..."

"I was your age once—"

"Mr. John, I swear to you—"

"And I know that it's just human nature—" I pleadingly stared at him. He finally cut himself off and awkwardly patted my shoulder a few times, nodding once. "So, yeah... good—good talk. Keep up the good work." He walked a little more quickly than normal back into his office building. I exhaled and let out a huge breath that I hadn't known that I was holding. What just happened was enough to exhaust a person mentally for an entire day.

I slowly walked back to the boats, Allison surprisingly nearly finished painting. I didn't say a word, furious that she pulled that crap with Buford, knowing perfectly well by the first words coming out of his mouth that he was naïve and would believe any word she said to him. She was just completely being cruel. Then she manages to get my boss on my back and completely embarrasses me. I had the nerve to do something that no one else in her life had apparently had the guts to do—I told her the truth. And she repaid me for it by doing this.

If it weren't for the extra sixty dollars a day coming my way, I wouldn't be dealing with this crap anymore.

* * *

><p>The sun began to lower in the sky as the hours passed, and it became hotter as lunch time neared. Allison still had remained silent—uncomfortably so—and she took a few breaks for water but never complained once. Her oddly cooperative work attitude and her incredibly rude and insensitive attitude outside of work were throwing me off. I went inside and retrieved two refrigerated Subway sandwiches from the mini fridge, walked outside again, and threw one at her. She barely caught it without dropping it on the dusty ground, glaring at me as she did so. I didn't really care at this point. The gentleman in me was done for the day. He was done the second she started trying to mess with my best friend.<p>

I sat down under the cool shade of the barn's awning, taking a clean towel and dabbing my face, hair, neck, and body. I took a swig of water and began to open my Subway sandwich. I peeled back the labeled paper to reveal a cool and delicious-looking black forest ham creation. My stomach rumbled as I took my first bite and closed my eyes, savoring the flavor. Nothing was better than a refreshing sub and some cool water after a hard morning of endless painting. My arms were beginning to stiffen, but I was used to it. I rolled my shoulders as I took another bite, resting my ankle on my knee and enjoying my moment of relaxation.

Allison, unsure of whether or not she wanted to be anywhere near me, I guess, stood there for a while with the sandwich in her hands, looking around like she was lost. Eventually deciding that she couldn't find another suitable seat within walking distance, she sat as far away from me as she could underneath the awning while still being covered by the cool shade. She glanced at me, opened her sandwich, examined it pickily, and decided that she was too hungry to object. I did my best to pretend that she wasn't there, that it was just me, like it would be on any other day.

We were both halfway finished with our lunch before she spoke.

"You were right, you know," she said quietly, putting her sandwich down in her lap for a moment. She didn't look at me, she looked at a few birds chasing each other into a nearby tree. I looked at her. She refused to meet my gaze. "About life. People. All of that. I just... it's not that simple for me."

I was quiet for a long time, but she still didn't glance over at me anymore. I carefully calculated my next words. Did I really want to know? Was I going to get an amazingly shallow answer again or was it actually worth hearing?

"Why is it not 'that simple'?"

She sighed slowly, taking another bite of her sandwich. She wiped her forehead with the back of her hand. "Because. I know that on the outside I must seem like a brat that just... has twisted views of life. But, I do everything that I do for a reason, ya know." She was quiet for a minute, and I patiently waited. She looked up at a stray cloud as she began again. "And my reasons aren't... aren't to be bitchy. Well, at least not all of the time." She sheepishly chuckled. "My parents... they aren't the most... loving. Or affectionate. Or caring at all, really," she murmured, playing with a piece of lettuce that had fallen on her leg. "They, uh... they aren't really parents. The only time they ever seem to care is if I'm a bitch... if I do something worth getting their attention... their negative attention. I know what you're thinking, 'oh, she is just using that stereotypical sob story of inconsiderate parents to justify everything that she does'. But I'm really not trying to. You know, Chad, despite all of the crap that I've said about you, to you, about your family and your... everything... in a way, I'm kind of... jealous of it. Because even though I have the lifestyle, _you_ have the life." I was amazed at the depth and sincerity of what she was telling me right now. That she was even capable of it. "You may only have one parent, but at least that parent loves you and values you with all of their heart. I have two adults who legally are my parents, but they aren't a mom and dad. They were more than happy to send me away and have an excuse to get rid of me for a few months. The second I crossed the line, they took so much... _joy_ in sending me away. And it hurt. It hurt really bad."

I didn't know what to say. I suddenly thought I understood why she was crying in her room the first night she came. And I suddenly thought that I understood a tiny part of her.

I was determined to lighten the mood. The gentleman was suddenly back. "So... if you don't mind me asking... what exactly did you do that was bad enough to make your parents banish you to manual labor halfway across the country for the summer?"

She glanced up at me for the first time, a much softer look in her eyes than I had seen since meeting her. "Well... it's kind of embarrassing."

"Oh, c'mon, it can't be that bad," I smiled, only imagining what she could've pulled. Most likely, it _was_ that bad, but I wasn't about to ruin the moment.

"It is, though," she laughed, flicking the piece of lettuce from her thigh. "It's pretty bad."

"What is it?"

"You don't want to know," she smiled to herself, jokingly looking up at me. "You might lose all respect for me!" We both laughed, knowing that there wasn't enough respect between the two of us—at least, not until now—to risk ruining anything. I couldn't help but notice her smile and how big and bright it was. This was the first genuine smile I'd seen from her yet, and I had to admit, even through the dust and sweat, it was breathtaking. "I, uh... I got a tattoo."

My brows furrowed. Maybe the values were different in California than here, but she was eighteen, and I don't see what is so bad about the situation. Heck, I don't even see it anywhere, it can't be that bad. I told her this. "It's just a tattoo," I shrugged.

"Thank you, that's exactly what I was saying!" she exclaimed. "But... my parents don't like permanently putting things on your body... they think it's inappropriate for 'a high-class citizen like myself'." She rolled her eyes. "If it wasn't for it getting infected a few days after I got it done, they would've never known, and I wouldn't be here right now."

"So, what did you get?" I chuckled good-naturedly, taking another bite of my sandwich and asking questions through a comical mouthful of ham and lettuce. "A unicorn on your foot? A butterfly on your ankle? A heart on your wrist?"

She suddenly became a lot quieter, taking an unusually long time to chew the large bite of sandwich she had just taken. My interest was suddenly peaked.

"Not exactly," she mumbled. She became very interested in a butterfly that had just landed on a weed next to her.

"What?" I asked, more interested than was probably appropriate, but I decided that I didn't care.

"Well..." she started hesitantly, "you actually got one part right... it's a heart, but it's not on my wrist."

My heart thumped as I realized the implications of what she just said. I had to choose now—was I going to be a gentleman and drop the subject, or was I going to follow my 'red-blooded boy' thoughts and ask her where the tattoo was?

"Interesting," I nodded, chewing on my last bite. She looked at me expectantly, obviously wondering the same thing that I was. Her eyebrow was raised and a smirk played on her face, but it wasn't smug and rude like usual, but playful and taunting. "So, it's not on your wrist." I took the middle ground, my good upbringing and curiosity battling each other.

"Nope," she answered, popping the 'p'. "Not anywhere in that area."

How much I wanted to know where it was was unsettling me a bit, I'm not gonna lie. I finally voiced my thoughts. "I don't wanna ask where it is if... ya know, you aren't comfortable saying..."

"I never said I wasn't comfortable saying," she smiled at me, and I was getting that weird feeling in my gut again. It made me uncomfortable but, at the same time, I didn't want it to go away. "Do you wanna know?"

I didn't immediately answer, but we both knew that she already knew what the answer was. I looked at her and the feeling in my gut roared. "Sure, where is it?"

"And _that_, is up to the imagination," she answered wittily, taking the last bite of her sandwich and standing up, bouncing to grab her paint brush and move on to the next boat. My mouth almost hung open in stomped anticipation, the feeling that was in my gut huffing disappointedly. I slowly got up too, surprised at the blood pumping in my ears, and I went back to work as well, choosing to paint my third boat next to hers to make sure that she was still doing it correctly.

If I had to admit one thing, it was that there was more to Allison Munroe than I thought. I couldn't deny that I wasn't too resistant to the idea of seeing more, either.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: *covers face* So you all have a perfectly good reason to hate me. I know it's been like... 18 months since I've updated, so I'm sure that I've lost a lot of my readers. I am SO SORRY. Life took a crazy turn and got busy and I just didn't have time anymore. But I know that I will now because life is going back to normal, and it's summer vacation, and I'm about to graduate high school! What shall I do with my newfound freedom? I don't know yet, but one thing I'll use my free time for is writing, because I forgot how much I enjoy it.**

**If y'all don't review, I totally understand. But I'd really like to know that people are still reading this and that I actually have people following the story! I love you guys! I really do!**

**Review, pwetty pwease? :)**

**~Allison C.**


	13. Chapter 13

**CONSUELA**

As I dusted for the hundredth time in the same place, mi ojos were glued to a muy bonita picture of my lovely little girl. She had been gone for only a week now, but how I did miss her. The frame seemed to freeze the most perfect moment in time to capture everything that shined about my Allison, my Sonny, as her eyes glinted in the black and white photo and her dazzling smile lit up the room from its place on the elaborate mantel piece. Although I had many, this was by far my favorite foto of mi querida.

"Consuela!" a shrill voice called to me from the foyer. With regret, I put down my rag and my can of wood cleaner and stalked towards my employer's voice, only to straighten and look polite and obedient once I was in her sight.

"Si, Mrs. Munroe?" I asked sweetly, clasping my hands together.

She regarded me with little interest. "Go ask Mr. Munroe if he is ready for the dinner gala yet. He is on the other side of the house and I don't feel like walking all that way, honestly." Quickly turning to regard herself in the reflection of a huge and grand glass art piece that stood across from the large mahogany double doors, she adjusted her carefully curled dark hair and smoothed down her very tight, black designer dress. I nodded obediently, happy that all she required of me in that moment was walking, and I went on my mission.

Down this hall, up these stairs, down this elevator, through this room, turn this corner... this place was very tiring. Even after living here for over fifteen years, I still found myself getting lost every now and then. I finally approached the Munroe's master bedroom where Mr. Munroe was adjusting his tie and combing back his brown hair. I noticed that a touch of gray was appearing near the temples. He was a distinguished-looking man, but when he stood beside his wife, the power that radiated from his aura suddenly seemed to be snuffed out.

"Sir?" I asked quietly, careful not to surprise him. He didn't enjoy surprises. Especially the one that his daughter had branded onto herself.

He glanced away from the mirror for a moment to give me a nod, rolling a lent brush over his blazer with speed and spritzing himself with cologne that I could smell from the doorway. "Tell her that I'm coming."

I nodded quickly and stepped away, rushing back to Mrs. Munroe. She was never a woman known for her patience. She was exactly where I left her, except now she was applying even more lipstick in the reflection of the large art piece.

"He says... he is coming," I told her, a little out of breath. I never got too overweight working in this house, I guess that's one good thing. But the stress from the job probably overcompensated for that.

She scoffed and strutted towards the long, grand staircase, calling up as loudly and as threateningly as she could, her stiletto heels clicking on the granite tile all the while.

"Charles!" she screamed, resisting a temper tantrum. I don't understand why she is so upset, he said he was on his way. "We will be late if we don't leave soon! The driver is going to be here any minute!"

A few seconds passed before Mr. Munroe appeared around a corner, panting heavily, and descended the staircase at a trot. Adjusting his wind-blown hair in the art piece, he murmured apologies to his wife not long before the doorbell rang. An elaborate array of chimes and symphonic chords echoed throughout the shiny mansion.

"I swear, Charles, if you were late, I'd never hear the end of it from Sherill," Mrs. Munroe continued to scold him as they went out of the door. The driver that held the door open for them sent me a pitiful look, and I nodded in understanding. All of the help in this inner circle of well-off friends were very sympathetic to one another—we all had to basically deal with the same thing every day. I watched the limousine pull away down the long and winding driveway, narrowly missing the large rose bushes. I could almost hear Mrs. Munroe's screaming from behind a closed door.

With a sigh, I sat down on one of the many snow white couches that encircled the large living room. I picked up the remote and flipped through channels, but saw nothing that interested me, even on the Spanish channels. Suddenly, after flipping through a cell phone commercial, I remembered.

Darting to my maid's quarters and pulling out a small and cheap cell phone from one of my drawers, I sent my angel a very quick, but encouraging text message. I looked in every direction, afraid that, against all odds, Mrs. Munroe would still find a way to walk in on me.

I remember the day that Allison left, and the cold way that Madre Chupando la Sangre gave her a one-armed hug before my baby girl boarded the plane. The dejected look in my girl's eyes killed me, but of course there was nothing I could do about it. The second that the plane was gone, my emotionless employer turned to me and put away her pager. I should've known that that meant whatever we were about to talk about was very serious, but my heart was so heavy for my darling girl, that it didn't register. The cold and hard look in her eyes startled me.

"Now, Consuela," she began in a sickeningly sweet way, putting her hands on her hips and leaning down towards me. Her heels made her a head taller than I was. I tried not to be intimidated, but this was a blood-sucking woman, after all. "I know that you and my daughter have a... _uncomfortably close_ relationship, and I know that you don't like to discipline her..." Everything that she just said were complete lies, "...and I have to _implore_ you not to have any kind of contact with her whatsoever. You may think this is a bit extreme, but she needs to learn her lesson! And she won't talking to her favorite maid every second of the day."

Although she had a point, I still didn't see why I couldn't just talk to her every now and again, maybe once every few days, or for a few minutes at night before she went to bed. I didn't like the idea of my Allison being alone and miserable without a soul to talk to. I saw how she acted out when I was the only one to listen to her, and I was terrified of what she might do when no one was there to hear her problems.

"Please, Mrs Munroe," I begged, trying to show the loco madre reason, "if I could only talk to her once a day for just a few minutes... or even once a week! She doesn't need to feel completely cut off, or she might do something muy stupido!"

"Well then, that's on her head, then, isn't it?" she shot back at me, venom in her words. "It is time that my daughter learns to deal with life and unfortunate situations. No one is going to be there to hold her hand through everything, and she needs to learn to do things on her own." She smirked. She held out her hand for my iPhone that the family had just bought for me last Christmas. I hesitated. Her eyes burned. "_Consuela_, can I trust you?"

Dejectedly, I put the phone in her hand. "But what if I need to make calls and texts that have nothing to do with Allison?"

"We have a home phone," she snapped. "And there's a thing called email."

Only a few days after Mrs. Munroe not only turned down my request, but stomped on it, I went to Wal-Mart and bought a very cheap payphone without the Munroe's knowledge. No one could make me abandon Allison if I could help it! Whenever I get a chance, am away from the security cameras stationed around the mansion, and am sure that the Munroes have no chance of walking in on me, I send her a quick text message. They'll never know.

I told her that I missed her and that I was with her always, no matter what. I just hoped that things weren't too terrible down in this Louisiana.

* * *

><p><strong>CHAD<strong>

The sun was beginning to set, signaling that it was about time for us to finish up. The heat was finally starting to simmer down, allowing a cool breeze to sweep through the bayou, engulfing my wet hair and body. There really was nothing like God's creation, I'll tell you that, especially when the sun sets over the calm waters of the swamp. Things look less dirty and wild for a while and just... turn into this oasis of green and drops of sunlight with the premature chirp of a cricket or the low rumblings of alligators beginning to wake for their nightly feast.

Between the two of us, Allison and I were supposed to paint eighteen small, hand-crafted motorboats that day, nine a piece. I ended up doing twelve and she did six, but who's counting? It wasn't from a lack of effort, so I wasn't upset. She was actually somewhat trying today, and I wasn't going to get on her case and ruin the only moment of civility that has really happened between us.

When she saw that I was putting my shirt back on, she took that as a signal to finally lower her paintbrush and sit in a nearby plastic lawn chair. She took the bottom of her shirt and fanned it, catching air underneath the material and cooling herself off, although the shirt was never thick in the first place.

"Chad, how do you do it?" she asked me, spreading her legs out and throwing her head back, looking as if she had collapsed in the chair. "How do you do stuff like this _every single day_?"

"It's only on Mondays through Fridays," I offered. "We only worked this past weekend because I wanted to see you squirm." She shot a hard glare my way, and I quickly laughed to show that I was kidding. "Not really, okay? Your uncle wanted you to work through your first weekend."

"Wow, how nice of him," she groaned, throwing her head back again so it would rest on the chair back. "That sucked."

"Yeah, trust me, I know," I agreed exasperatedly, remembering all of the complaining and sabotaging of every task we were assigned that weekend.

"Sorry about that, by the way," she apologized, kicking a stray soda can absentmindedly. She didn't really sound that sorry, to be honest. I grunted.

Then, just as the day was winding down to an end, I realized that the worst had yet to come. Because a large, black, four-door Ford F-150 pulled into the gravel slowly, trailing a large trailer hitched with a big, bulky boat that I immediately recognized. My heart sank into my stomach, and jumped into my throat all at the same time. This couldn't have happened at a worse time. Allison was drenched and her shirt was not covering up what it should be in front of these people. Well, she could be wearing a parka and it still probably wouldn't be enough, but still.

"Allison," I said very frankly, almost quietly, "come here."

She looked at me in a puzzled way but didn't move from her perch on the lawn chair. "Why?"

"You need to come over here," I said again, seriously, trying to keep my composure so that she wouldn't panic. I needed to stay in control of the situation. I was trying to figure out how we were going to get out of this all in the twenty-five second window we had until the truck parked and the passengers climbed out. Her eyes followed mine to the huge Ford, and she looked back at me. I kept my eyes on the truck.

"Chad, who is that?"

I didn't answer her question. "Allison, _now_, c'mon." She finally seemed to sense the seriousness of the situation and quickly sprinted over to where I was standing. I pushed her protectively behind me. Our window was gone.

The truck parked and turned off, the beeping of an open door—now two open doors—blared in my ears. I'd seen what Dylan and Langford did to any girl that wasn't completely repulsive—even repulsive, if they were in the mood—and that wasn't happening to my boss's niece. Not on my watch. No fun for them.

I considered running to my truck. I considered making her hide. I considered sending her inside her uncle's office, but I didn't want him to think that I didn't have this under control. If I couldn't handle a couple of dumb-ass coworkers, and I'd already seemed to have problems making Buford put his tongue back in his mouth, how could Mr. John rely on me to look after his niece? My extra sixty dollars a day would be gone. Not to mention, I'd rescue any girl from these boneheaded perverts. They needed shock collars and an electric fence. I knew they'd already seen us, so there was no other choice. I was going to have to face them.

Two pairs of heavy, round work boots slammed to the ground as Dylan and his lackey exited his truck, their eyes already in my direction. Dylan puffed out his chest as he walked nearer, his signature posture that he used when in the presence of a female. I pushed Allison further behind me, gripping her wrist and holding it to the small of my back. She wasn't going anywhere if I was going to get through this with my job and she with her dignity.

"Hey, there, Cooper," he grinned slimily. He licked his dirt-covered palm and smoothed back his dirty mop of curly hair from his face. Langford stupidly tried to imitate. I held back a very exaggerated eye roll. "Who's the pretty lady you're hiding behind your back? Ain't tryin' to keep her all to yourself, are ya?"

My grip on her wrist tightened. I heard her quick gasp in pain. I forget my own strength sometimes. I loosened it just enough to keep her comfortable, but as tightly as I could otherwise.

"I'm your employer's niece," she piped up from behind me, and I quickly squeezed her wrist to quiet her. She needed to talk as little as possible!

Dylan grinned in a way that I didn't like as he stepped around me to better get a view of her. "Are you really?" he asked, his eyes glinting. I turned my body to hide her again, warning both of them with my eyes to back off. "Hear that, Langford? It's that California girl that John's runaway brother sent down here." He smirked. "I've always liked the idea of a beach bunny."

"Don't you have somewhere to be, Dylan?" I quickly stepped in, trying as hard as I could to get him to leave, or at least let _us_ leave. "Like, making baits? Getting your tags?" I wrinkled my nose. "Or, I don't know, showering?"

He scowled at me, that familiar look of hatred that we shared clouding his face like a storm cloud. I was hoping that his hate for me would keep him from thinking about his lust for a living, breathing girl—namely, Allison.

"For your information, ass-wipe," he spat at me, "we've already got all of our recipes cooked up for the season this year, and we got our tags today!" He pointed towards the truck. "Hundreds of 'em!"

"However many you got, we both know that it'll be a hundred less than what Buford and I get this year. Like always," I shot back. Oh, Buford. What I would give for him to be here with me right now. Then it'd be two against two, and Allison and I would actually have a fighting chance of getting out of here. Dylan and Langford are just brute muscle, they have no fighting tactics. Between me and my partner, we'd outsmart their dumb asses and be out of here in no time. A spike of anger suddenly jolted in my stomach at Allison again. If it weren't for her, Buford would probably be here right now. I pushed it out of my mind, trying to focus my anger on only one person.

"What do you think, little lady?" Dylan asked, curving around me like a snake to get a full view of Allison again. "Do you think Chaddy here is going to beat me and my almost-as-dashin'ly-handsome partner?" He didn't really care for the answer, he wanted an excuse to stare at her some more. I pulled her out of his sight again and he glared angrily at me.

"I think Chad will hunt circles around you," she spat, quickly ducking behind me after she put in her ten cents. I squeezed her wrist very hard this time, hoping she would finally get the message to _shut up_. But Dylan was feeding into the situation with every fiber of his stupid being.

"And why's that?" he asked, a little angry but enjoying a little bickering argument with her that was no doubt exciting him.

She finally got the memo and didn't answer, pressing her body against my back. I still clutched her wrist protectively. It was then that Dylan started getting to the meat of what he really wanted, and I tried as subtly as I could to back Allison and I toward my truck. If it were just Dylan or just Langford, I wouldn't be worried, this would be no problem. But with both of them, they could surround me if they wished, and although they'd swear they were 'only joking around' to anyone on the outside, I knew that they weren't.

"She's pretty, ain't she, Dylan?" Langford called out in his low, dumb voice. Before I could stop him, he whirred around me and did something to Allison, what I wasn't sure, but it wasn't hard to guess when she gaped at him, covering her butt with her hands.

"Sure 'nough, man," Dylan agreed, closing in on me as Langford seemed to circle my back.

"She's got a nice ass, too," Langford guffawed, punching Dylan in the shoulder. Dylan dived at her from my left side, but I was too quick for him. The fifty pounds of steroids that he ingested daily slowed his reflexes. Allison whimpered behind me, her fiery confidence gone now. She knew that these boys weren't just playing with her.

"C'mon, now, Chaddy, share!" Dylan pleaded in a fake, baby-like voice. "Is it true that she's living with you?" His eyes glinted. "Don't tell me you're not gettin' any of that, man?! Lang, he's a bigger dumb ass than we thought!"

A fiery rage was building in my chest. My muscles tensed and ached with built-up adrenaline and anger. If they don't shut up, _I swear_, I'm going to swing! And considering that I'm outnumbered, that would not be a good decision on my part. But there was a monster in my gut that hated them, that hated every move they made, every breath they took, every word that came out of their mouth. I could feel my arms swelling with frustration.

"Come with us, little missy," Dylan cooed, reaching out and grabbing her arm before I could stop him. The blood pounded in my ears like a drum processional. "We'll show you a good time..."

"Shut the hell up!" I exploded, reaching out and ripping their arms apart, roughly shoving Allison behind me again. In one movement, my fists collided with Dylan's jaw and my knee with Langford's stomach. They cried out in pain and anger, bowing up to hit me back, but a loud yell made all of us stop in our tracks.

"WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON OUT HERE?!" Mr. John came stomping in between us, a look of lethality and pure anger on his face, and I quickly shut my mouth. I knew better than to talk out of turn when his face was like that. His veins bulged, his eyes were wide and shining, and his face was the color of a ripe tomato. He turned to me. "_Chad_, explain to me why I look out my window and see your fist colliding with his face?!"

"They weren't being very gentlemanly to your niece, sir," I said quietly, emphasizing the 'gentlemanly' and 'your'. He would take their outright abusive behavior towards her as a direct insult to him and his family. He turned slowly to Dylan and Langford, breathing heavily.

He gulped and didn't speak for a long time. Dylan wiped blood from this punctured lip and Langford was trying to stand up straight. "Boys..."

"We wasn't doin' nothin', sir!" Dylan swore, his eyes as big as dinner plates. "We was just sayin' hi, ya know, offerin' to show her around, and Chad gets all defensive and starts throwin' punches!"

"Yeah, yeah!" Langford nodded quickly, unable to think of anything more substantial to say.

"I don't give a _damn_ what you two were doin'!" Mr. John yelled, throwing his Mossy Oak cap on the ground. "Now, I know Chad! And he don't hit nobody for somethin' as little and as stupid as sayin' hi! You two are on probation! I've been lenient, giving y'all the benefit of the doubt, hopin' that this rivalry between y'all was healthy for business, but this has gone too damn far! If I hear anymore problems comin' out of you two, you're ass will be kicked so far to the curb that you won't stop flyin' til tomorrow, is that perfectly clear?!" They were silent, looking at the ground. Knowing that there jobs were now at stake, their interest in torturing Allison had suddenly waned. I didn't know why they expected anything different, knowing that this was the boss's niece! "And Chad." My heart skipped a beat. I wasn't seriously in trouble too, was I? He clapped a hand on my shoulder. "Good work." But his eyes told me that I might as well be on probation too, being involved in this scuff at all.

I felt a small hand on my back, and I suddenly remembered that Allison was still behind me. Her body was still pressed against my back, and I couldn't deny that a tiny glint of satisfaction was shining inside of me. What guy doesn't feel good after defending a girl's honor? Especially with fists.

"Now, you two, get out of my sight! I don't wanna see y'all unless I have to, and you better get _twice_ the amount of gators this year! I'm not putting up with anymore bullcrap from any of you!" Mr. John bellowed, and Dylan and Langford were quick to scurry back to their truck, but not before shooting me looks that made sure that I knew this wasn't over.

"Thank you, Mr. John," I breathed, finally releasing my protective hold on his niece's wrist. "You couldn't have come out at a better time."

He didn't answer me, but he looked back and forth between Allison and me, and I couldn't read his face. It was like he was trying to figure out some kind of complicated math problem. He finally shook his head and walked back into his office building. Allison and I let out deep breaths and looked at each other for the first time since work had finished for the day. She was looking at me in a new way. What that new way was, though, I couldn't really tell.

"Well..." I shrugged, popping my knuckles for effect, "that's what happens when you mess with Chad Dylan Cooper." I tried to make her smile, but she wouldn't stop looking at me in that... _way_, and I didn't know how I felt about it.

She looked away from me and towards the retreating black Ford in the distance. Then she looked back at me again. My insides were squirming under her stare.

"You..." she trailed off, at a loss for words. "Um, you just..."

"I just punched some assholes in the face," I laughed.

She didn't seem to hear me. "You defended me."

My eyebrows furrowed at this. "Well, of course I did. Don't sound so surprised."

"I thought..." she seemed to be putting something together in her head, "I thought you didn't like me."

I was a little taken aback by the blatancy of what she just said. I mean, up until the last half of the day, we haven't been getting along, but she didn't really think that meant that I hated her guts or anything, did she?

"I don't dislike you," I said honestly, smiling at the vagueness of my statement. "Plus, I mean, it's my job. I'm supposed to be looking after you."

She nodded her head and looked at her feet, smiling for some reason that I didn't really know. A sudden gust of wind blew her long, dark hair in circles, and I found myself looking at her smile again. It was such a contrast to the personality that I'd come to know within the past week. It was like there was another person under there.

"Well... thank you," she grinned at me, and her smile was 1000 watts. I found myself thinking how beautiful she looked right now, without the fifty pounds of makeup and—what did she call them? Gucci heels?—and with her face shining with sweat with random little white splatters of paint. This girl right here, the one with the smile brighter than the neon white paint, was the one I wanted to get to know. She laughed at the cheesiness of what she was saying. "You _saved_ me."

I shrugged. "All in a days work of being the California girl's babysitter."

She laughed, and it was loud and boisterous. Almost a little quirky. I found myself laughing too. It was surprisingly contagious.

We both walked to my little red truck, and I opened the door for her. She climbed in without a single complaint or a wrinkle of the nose. She buckled her seat belt and patiently waited for me to climb in the driver's side. The ride home was silent, until I turned the radio onto some country music.

Then we started arguing over the radio station. Rascal Flatts vs Beyonce. Suddenly, the girl that enjoyed making fun of my way of life at my expense was back. And she was swinging.

Well, it was nice while it lasted.

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><p><strong>AN: Two chapters in two days! I hope you guys liked it... my sore fingers are hoping that you liked it too. Please review!**


	14. Chapter 14

**ALLISON**

I have to admit, after the week I've had, I am mentally, emotionally, and physically spent. How does Chad do this? I mean, come on, I know that somewhere, deep inside, this whole 'working' thing has to scratch underneath his skin. No one can work this much and be contently satisfied.

But the thing is... he _is_.

I haven't focused on myself any less (ha, that'll never happen), but I have started focusing on him more. Chad is just so... I don't know, sure of himself—sure of his life, and I don't understand that. He is so willing to do... _whatever_ to get where he wants to go, to do what he needs to do. And I don't understand that.

I mean, I understand the drive behind it. I had pretty much made up my mind to sabotage every task given to me and to use my lips and my hips to get what I want... but it's not something that I can be constructive with. I can only seem to use my 'skills' to get _out_ of situations, or to tear something _down_, but I can't ever seem to use it to build myself _up_.

These kinds of thoughts were running through my mind after Chad basically gave me a life talk in the middle of a steaming hot day, surrounded by the strong and distracting smell of paint. I was starting to come to terms with what he said about me, with what his point was intended to be. But, of course, before I arrived at the conclusion that he obviously meant for me, I beat around the bush—I denied it to myself and found excuses to take out my embarrassment on him. I talked myself into thinking that he was calling me stupid, ignorant, any other adjective you want to use to describe the bratty way I sometimes look at the world. When his chubby friend (Buford, was it?) was pushed over to me with his tongue hanging out, I knew exactly what Chad was trying to do: make me look bad. And at that moment, when I had convinced myself that he had it out for me, I played with his head and his friend's heart, because that's what I do when I don't get my way. I tore things _down_.

As the day dragged on and we worked in silence, Chad not even glancing over at me or acting like I existed, my resolve began to wane. I watched him out of the corner of my eye to see what I was supposed to be doing, I saw how hard he worked, how much he put in every ounce of his concentration to make sure that it was the best that it could possibly be, and I started to boil with envy and guilt. He was just doing his best, he was... _fulfilled_. And what was I doing? Standing there, pouting, hardly putting any effort into what was supposed to be my job. I looked at my boat and I looked at his. It was like they reflected who we were. My boat was bigger and more expensive, with hand-carved woodwork and finishings, but the paint was uneven, splotchy, and halfway done. His boat was smaller, simpler, and average, but the paint job was even and remarkable from every view. Chad might not have the money that I did, or the resources, but he was happy. He had purpose. He had a family that loved and supported him.

As much as I knew that breaking a habit of acting a certain way was going to be difficult, I decided that from that moment on, I was going to be the kind of person that I needed to be. My parents weren't around for me to act out and impress. Consuela wasn't here to hold my hand and do the task for me. I was alone... except for an uncle that I hardly knew and this Southern anomaly that actually tried to give me constructive advice.

When we sat down for lunch, as much as it ripped apart my pride, I finally managed to admit to Chad that he was right—completely right—and then I tried to explain simply the reasons behind why I did what I did—why I do what I do. For the first time since I arrived in Louisiana, I finally felt... relieved... almost as if some kind of weight had been lifted. I'd found some form of inner peace, or at least the beginning of it. I was making progress. Ever since Chad sat there and outlined my life for me, I started to view myself in a new light—as less of a victim and more as someone who was victimizing myself.

…...

But it wasn't until two perverted idiots tried to assault me that I started to view _Chad_ in a new light.

Despite his 'job description' (as he liked to say), Chad went the extra mile for me, a girl that he'd only known for a week, a girl that had been nothing but horrible to him. He could have called for my uncle. He could have just grabbed me and we could have run towards his truck, but no. He stood there and defended me—protected me. The way I'd been treating him, I almost deserved to be thrown to those muddy, disgusting pigs... well, not really... but Chad still sat there and kept me out of their reach. It was two against one, the odds weren't favorable, and he kept me right by his side. It was almost like I could feel him surrounding me like a protective wall. At that point, I stopped viewing him as an obstacle that I had to get around, as a person that I couldn't stand and was equally jealous of, but as someone that was on my side. I viewed him as a protector, a friend.

Just when I thought we were having a moment, though, he just _had_ to be unbearably redneck and start listening to some ear-splitting country crap. I couldn't stand for that. I found a station that was playing Beyonce (who knew they knew who she was down here?!), and we argued all the way back to Chad's house over what music to play.

I came to the conclusion that this was _definitely_ going to be harder than I thought.

But I was going to try. Because I am sick of the way my life is right now, and it's time for a change. I don't know when, or even exactly how, but it's going to happen.

And Chad is going to help me.

* * *

><p><strong>CHAD<strong>

I settled into the comfortable, dark green couch, flipping on our small TV. The afternoon light began to fade in the large box window behind the television, and I smiled. It was almost night time, Dad would be home in an hour or two, and _I_ was cooking. No back-sass from Little Miss California tonight.

I was very surprised to feel a weight sinking into the couch beside me. I glanced to see Allison, looking uncharacteristically feeble, settling in beside me, clad in a pair of bright blue sweats and a big t-shirt.

"Hey, Chad."

Wait.

"Uh, hey?" It came out as more of a question.

"What are you watching?"

That shirt sure did look familiar.

"Um, I don't know, some random football game. Is... is that my t-shirt?"

She responded without hesitation, and she would have taken me by surprise, if it wasn't for the fact that I was so used to her directness. "Yep." I raised my eyebrows in further question, feeling a little uncomfortable. She didn't even ask! "I figured you wouldn't mind." I mean, I didn't, to be honest. It looked good on her.

I smiled in a friendly way. "Yeah, no problem. Guess you didn't bring many old t-shirts, did you?"

She scowled at herself. "Nope."

"Well, it looks good on you."

By the outright somewhat confused, somewhat flattered look on her face, I assumed that she thought I was completely focusing on the football game. But I wasn't. At all.

"So... um..." she started awkwardly, twisting her hands in her lap, "... thanks, again. Ya know, for today." She smiled that 1000 watt smile again, and giggled in a nervous way, and I didn't know what to think of it. Why was she acting like this? "I mean, you know, it could've gone really badly... but you stood up for me. And all I've done is... complain, and... insult you." Guilt was evident on her face, and for the third time today, the sincerity that she was showing me threw me off guard. "I... I don't deserve to be... stood up for like that."

My brows knitted in disagreement. "Allison... why are you thinking like that? Of course you deserved it. Everyone deserves to be stood up for." She sighed and looked at her lap. Her behavior was so... _unlike_ herself again that I felt like I was talking to a different person, someone that I had just met. And I felt strange. "Like I said earlier, I'm supposed to be looking out for you. I'm supposed to have your back and protect you. And whether that's from a cotton mouth, a gator, or two repulsive pigs, I'm gonna do my job." I offered her a reassuring smile and hoped that she would return it. She didn't. She avoided my eyes.

"Chad," she said suddenly, her hands intertwining and unraveling repeatedly in her lap, "I..." she took a deep breath "...I need to ask you something." I didn't answer, I just waited. She was making me nervous. "What... what do you think of me? As a person? Honestly?" Breathing was suddenly a little harder than it was before when her brown eyes finally gazed up at me, hesitant and hopeful. Was honesty the best policy, or should I water it down and tell her what she wants to hear? As if she could hear my thoughts, she quickly said, "Please, just tell me. Don't lie. Just tell me." She was looking at her lap again.

I turned my body away from the television and towards her, giving her my full, yet puzzled attention. "Why—?"

"Just... tell me."

I took a deep breath. "I mean... I've only known you for a little over a week, Allison, I can't really—"

"Please." The intensity of that one word confused me even more. Why in the world would she care what I thought, a mindless hick? Her words, not mine.

"Uh, well... I mean, from what I can tell..." I started, unsure, "...you uh, have a lot of money. You like to let people know that you have a lot of money. You like to let other people know when they _don't_ have a lot of money." She frowned. "When you're unhappy, you put up this wall and you take it out on other people. Or at least that's what it seems like." Her frown deepened. "You don't like to work for what you have. You like it when it's handed to you. You use..." I hesitated, "certain _advantages_ to get out of doing things." Seeing her forlorn and hopeless expression, I was quick to mention the point of my observation. "_But_, you're not a bad person. It doesn't seem like that at all. You can be nice when you want to be. And sometimes, like earlier today, when you just take the wall down and open up and are honest with yourself and others, you're really..." I filtered my thoughts "cool."

Her eyes were still sad, but they had a small smile in them. "Yeah, thanks. I guess."

I finally voiced what I was really thinking. "Why did you want to know?"

She shrugged, not looking at me again. "This is weird for me to say, but... I know that I'm like that. I know that that's exactly who I am. I put up a front and I lash out. And I've been doing that ever since I can remember... and I'm really unhappy, Chad. Really unhappy." She was opening up. Again. And once again, I didn't know what to think of it. "I know that we haven't known each other for very long, but... I mean, you're approachable. You're the every-man's-man, right?" I shrugged, chuckling lightly. "You just, I don't know, seem to have it all together. You have it all figured out. Life obviously isn't easy for you, but you're still moving along and you... you're _happy_. You're content. You like your job, you like your family, you like your _life_. And I don't. And I want to change that. But... I don't know how. How do you, I don't know, be _you_? How do you look at things so positively and work so hard on something? When people put you down, how do you... keep it together?"

I stared at her in awe. All that she wanted was to do what her family sent her here to do: to learn a lesson.

"So you want Chad Lessons?" I teased her, nudging her playfully. She needed to smile. It was too great of a sight for her to sit there scowling like that.

She hid a grin, I could tell. She determinedly kept a frown on her face, although it cracked momentarily once or twice. "I just want to be a better person. A happier person."

For some reason, I had a feeling that, deep down, that wouldn't be too far of a stretch for her. I thought of those rare moments when she would flash one of those dazzlingly happy smiles at me, when she would let a laugh slipped that I found hilariously quirky, and when she actually told me what she was thinking, unfiltered by an attitude or by preconceived ideas. That girl that she wanted to be was in there, somewhere.

We just had to get her out.

"You're not a bad person, Allison," I told her, blunt and very honest. "I think you're just scared. And confused. And I'm not really sure why."

She shrugged. "It's just... the way I coped with my life, I guess."

I smiled at her. "Well, not anymore. I see awesome things in you. I think you're a pretty cool person, somewhere in there." I nudged her again. She let herself smile this time. I made myself not stare. "We're gonna get you out."

The surprises weren't done for the night. I was almost rude and didn't do it back, it caught me so off guard! But when Allison Munroe wrapped her arms around me and murmured a 'thank you' into my chest, I can tell you, I was suddenly looking forward to the next few months.

I'm not sure how long we stayed like that. Even though it was kind of... I don't know, _different_, I found myself pushing down a lot of thoughts that I hadn't had since the first day I'd seen her, and I quickly put them away. This was strictly a 'babysitting' job. Sure, she was attractive... very attractive... and she was wearing my shirt and hugging me, but I tried to remind myself of what a brat she could be, and of all of the things she had said about me and my life. I couldn't focus on them, though, because she had asked for help. She didn't want to be that way. And now that I didn't have a buffer to repel any... uh, _unwanted_ feelings, I suddenly started wondering if deciding to help her was the right decision.

Suddenly, the front door opened and in walked my dad. He and I made one second of intense eye contact before Allison and I jumped apart, guilt painted on our faces. We weren't doing anything inappropriate, and we both knew it, but just the feeling of being walked in on in a somewhat-intimate moment was enough to make us feel like what we were doing was taboo.

"Hope I wasn't interruptin' anything!" my dad boomed, walking on in as if he'd seen nothing at all. His face was a little red, though.

"No, no," was all Allison and I could stutter out. We avoided each other's eyes. I felt a hot blush on my face and I clearly saw it on Allison's face as well. I just realized, I'd never seen her blush! And good Lord, it was noticeable when she did!

"What's for supper, Chad?" my father said hurriedly, as if he was trying to fish me out of my current situation. "I'm starvin'! Why don't you start up on those chicken breast and red beans and rice?"

I quickly hopped up from the couch, eager to have an excuse to get up. Allison got up, too, and quickly walked to the back of the house, to her room I guess. She kept her head down the whole walk there.

The second my dad heard her door close, he grilled me as hard as I started to grill the chicken. "What's goin' on, Chad? You know you can't—"

"_Dad_, calm down, I know," I interrupted him, quick to clear my name. "It was just a hug. I told her I'd help her with somethin'. It's not that big of a deal. I don't know what it looked like to you, but—"

"Oh, I'll tell you what it looked like!" Dad began, pacing around the kitchenette, hardly avoiding hitting me and making me spill too much pepper on the grilling chicken. "It looked like there was... I don't know... somethin' goin' on! I know it was just a hug, Chad, but c'mon, I'm just lookin' out for ya. It's John's _niece_."

"I know that," I said, somewhat sour. Did he think I didn't know what would happen if I was to start being... less than professional... with Allison? I wasn't dumb enough to put my job at stake!

"I know that you know that." The words tumbled nervously out of his mouth. "But you need to _know_ that. Do you get what I'm sayin'?"

"Not really."

"You need to _follow_ that," he emphasized, taking off his dirty cap and rubbing a hand through his hair. He glanced back into the hallway and then to me again, as if he was afraid Allison would hear. "You don't... ya know... feel _that_ way... towards her, do you?"

I took a deep breath to calm myself. "No, dad, of course I don't!"

"Because, if you do, even just a little bit, Chad... it's not appropriate for her to be livin' here with us... with you. That's not somethin' that we need to be playin' around with."

I was absolutely exhausted at all of the accusations of 'feelings-this' and 'feelings-that' that I'd gotten that day. I almost couldn't speak anymore. I didn't have feelings for her. I didn't. Nothing that went past noticing her looks, anyway, and that was something that every person pushes down. There was no need for him to go out on a wire like that. I was fine.

I was fine.

"Dad, relax, we're just... friends." The word sounded strange on my tongue. Just this morning I dreaded the thought of having to cart her around everywhere I went and convince her to do manual labor. Now... we were friends? I guess we were.

He watched me sparingly as I flipped the chicken and reached for the box of rice.

"It needs to stay that way," he muttered, fitting in his last ten cents.

"Yes, Dad. Trust me, I know."

Allison Munroe was, well... Allison Munroe! How could it possibly ever work between us, hypothetically, even if I was to ever look at her like that? She lived halfway across the country, we had nothing in common... I mean, we were complete opposites, but we didn't attract. We didn't.

I tuned out my dad's occasional unwanted comments out of my mind as I made dinner, focusing solely on the chicken, flavoring it, boiling the rice, cooking the beans, flavoring them, mixing in some fresh vegetables... peeling this, chopping that... I'm pretty good and tuning out the world and focusing on a task at hand, at least temporarily. That was one thing that I prided myself on. When my mom died, I got outstandingly good at building boats.

The steam from the grilling, juicy chicken and the tender rice and beans drifted towards the ceiling, and I watched it. It twisted, it puffed, it weaved in and out of itself, it had no permanent shape or inclination, except to rise. No matter what it went through, the steam rose towards the ceiling, towards the sky. My life was going to be like this. I was going to make good things happen for myself, no matter what obstacles stood in my path. This was the lesson I needed to teach Allison.

Speaking of her, she hesitantly emerged from the hallway. I noticed that she was no longer wearing my shirt.

"It... uh, it smells really good." The compliment seemed to easily roll off her tongue. I appreciated the effort she was putting in already.

"Yup, Shortstack sure is good at cookin'," Dad chuckled, messing my hair up with his hand. I scowled at the childhood nickname. I never was fond of it. Ever.

Allison snorted. "_Shortstack_?"

If her 'old' self suddenly comes out again, this is perfect material to torture me with. And I'm gonna kill my dad later if that happens.

"His mom gave it to 'im," my dad grinned, jabbing me in the side. I winced. "He wasn't always this tall, ya know."

I didn't look up to see what her reaction was. I was suddenly very interested in stirring the rice and beans. I heard Allison take a seat at a table. She laughed, and it was a loud one. I hid a smile. My dad laughed along with her.

"Well, if it makes him feel any better, I kind of have a dumb nickname, too," I heard her giggle, and my ears piked in interest. "My nanny, Consuela, gave it to me."

"It can't be any worse than some of the stuff his momma came up with, I'm sure," Dad grinned.

"No, no, it's pretty... different," she objected, a stain of distaste on the last word.

"What is it?"

"It's uh... it's Sonny," she said quietly. I turned at this, interested.

"Sonny?" I asked, speaking to her for the first time since our awkward hug-incident. "Like... the sun?"

She shrugged bashfully, her cheeks a light pink. I smiled even bigger. "Yeah, I guess so. I don't like it much, though. It sounds so... boy-ish."

"I don't think so," I disagreed. I flipped a chicken breast. "I think it sounds like you."

She smiled, her eyebrows furrowing. "Really? I'm not known as like... the nicest person."

"I don't know," I winked, taking the rice off of the stove and draining it in the sink, "I think you're pretty nice. Sometimes, at least." She grinned at me. My dad watched our exchange with cautious eyes. "I mean, you're smile brightens up a room." Despite what it sounded like, I wasn't flirting. I was being honest.

As if on cue, her mega-watt smile spread across her face, and my dad even seemed surprised by it. I guess he was used to bratty/pouting Allison. His eyes narrowed at me, but I ignored him.

So... Sonny. I liked it.

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><p><strong>AN: Tell me what you think! Do you like the new direction their relationship is heading towards? Did you like their epiphanies about each other? What are you thinking, my lovely readers? Review! :D**


	15. Chapter 15

**ALLISON**

I plopped down in my bed, which I had decorated a little more nicely with colorful sheets and a patterned comforter. My mind racing, I pulled my long hair up into a ponytail and laid back on my pillows. I was thinking. And what I was thinking about—or _who_ I was thinking about—made me uncomfortable. My stomach was full of his delicious chicken and red beans and rice, and my head was full of his words and his sapphire blue eyes.

In a period of a few days, I'd formulated a little boy-crush on my Southern, hunky 'bodyguard'.

And I'm not proud to admit it.

I normally don't go for the, uh—how do I say this?—_backwoods_ kind of guy... but he was unique. Chad wasn't just a good-looking redneck or anything, he had substance... substance that I could relate to. He wasn't even a redneck, come to think of it. More like... a Southern gentleman that got his hands dirty. His dirty blonde hair, crooked smile, bright blue eyes, and work-sculpted body always caught my attention, but when we started to connect on an emotional level, thoughts sprung into my head that I didn't want there.

I don't plan on letting him, or anyone for that matter, know anything about these feelings, though. Not only would I probably have to move somewhere else (and I'm just getting used to this place!), but I'd get assigned a new mentor altogether, and I definitely didn't want that. I needed Chad to help me work on my new attitude, my new self. Not to mention, I just wanted to be around him. He's a shining lantern in this mucky, dark place called Louisiana. When he's around, I don't feel quite so lost.

As much as I could enjoy the view that he graces me with whenever the hot sun forces him to remove his shirt, or my taste buds could love his seemingly-delicious cooking, I seriously needed to push down these feelings. They were distracting, and _not_ in a good way. How am I supposed to work on myself, or anything else for that matter, if all I'm thinking about is a boy? Especially one that I live with and see 24/7. Not to mention, nothing could come from it. I'll be leaving in a few months, and even if we _could_ have a summer fling, it'd be over before it hardly got started. And I can't emotionally do that to myself. What if I get... attached? I'm going back to the University of California in the fall and he was going... wherever he goes, probably around here. I'd never see him again after this little swamp adventure. There's no use in pining over someone that I can't have.

I decided at _that_ point that maybe I didn't like him that much—or that I _shouldn't_ like him that much. I've talked myself out of a lot of things before. I could easily talk myself out of these inconvenient feelings. Nothing good could come from them. Besides, it's not like it's that big of a deal. I'm not in love with the guy or anything. I've never been in love—unless you count with shoes—and I don't plan on it anytime soon.

I suddenly heard a vibrating noise coming from my phone on the window sill, and I anxiously snatched it. I hungrily stared at Consuela's name, opening the text message as soon as I possibly could.

_**Consuela :)**_

**Hola, mi bonita! I miss u so. I am thinking of u and**

**am always with you. Xoxo**

My eyes suddenly became cloudy and I quickly locked the screen and threw it by my side onto the comforter, covering my face with my hands. I was done crying over this. _Don't cry, don't cry._ Did I miss home? More than anything. Did I miss Consuela? Yes, she was the only family I had. Did I miss my friends? My gut felt empty without them. The only thing I didn't miss were my parents. I felt an astounding sense of... _lightweight-ness_ since I'd been gone. I didn't have anyone breathing down my neck, or anyone to irk so I could get a second of their time. The only person I had to focus on was _me_, and I actually really liked that.

_Knock-knock_.

I almost jumped out of my skin, so deep in my thoughts that soft knocks on my bedroom door startled me. Knowing who it probably was, I resisted a strong urge to check my reflection. I tried not to care. Caring would get me nowhere.

"Come in," I called. I scowled internally when my heart rate quickened at the sight of his face sticking through the gap between my door and the door frame.

"Hey, _Sonny_," he smirked, and I hated how I found it attractive.

"Ugh, please don't call me that," I glared, picking up my phone again and pretending that I was doing things on it, so that I wouldn't have to look at him. "I wouldn't have told you guys about it if I knew you were going to use it against me."

"Oh, but then what's the fun of it?" he grinned, stepping fully into my room and, to my discomfort, taking a seat beside me on the bed.

"Fine, then, _Shortstack_," I smirked back, nudging him in the arm, "two can play at that game." He frowned at me and my smug grin grew.

"Okay, okay, no need to play dirty," he rolled his eyes with a smile. "At least _your_ nickname is an actual _name_."

I shrugged my shoulders, looking at him skeptically. "So? It's not a _good_ one."

"I think it is."

I peered up at him through my lashes before quickly glancing at my phone again. I couldn't make direct eye contact with him for long before I got paranoid that my face was revealing too much. Why couldn't he be ugly? Things would be so much easier!

"You're crazy," I deadpanned.

"I'm gonna use it," he stated as-a-matter-of-factly, smiling smugly. "I like it."

"Why?" I asked exasperatedly, almost laughing. We completely disagreed on this. "It sounds like something an old grandpa would call his grandson."

"No, not necessarily," he shook his head, joining his hands together as he leaned back to my pillows, watching the ceiling thoughtfully. "Think of it in terms of a sun. Think bright and cheery. Think effervescent."

I hid my rude, stereotypical surprise at the big word he used. I'm changing! "But I'm none of those things," I stated in a 'duh' tone. He glanced at me and back to the popcorn ceiling again.

"I think you are."

"You apparently think I'm a lot of things that I'm not," I tried to laugh, remembering how he said that he thought that I was already the person I wanted to be deep down, I just had to get her out. I didn't feel like this was true. At all. He was seeing too much in me.

"Why do you say that?" He was watching me now, and I tried not to squirm under his bright stare.

"Because," I shrugged nonchalantly, watching my lap, "I mean... I'm just not."

"Thorough excuse," he snorted, and I ignored it. "You know, for the most part, I'm pretty good at figuring people out. And if you'd asked me the same question a few days ago, I might have agreed with you." Against my better judgment, I looked up at him. "But you've been... I don't know, _different_ the past few days." My heart thumped wildly. Did he know? "You've stopped putting up this wall of—excuse my language—_bitchiness_, and you've actually been pretty cool."

"So you think I'm cool now?" I asked. I tried to make it sound dry and keep the hopefulness out of my voice. He smiled at me. I looked away.

"Yeah," he answered softly. He cleared his throat and added, "And you cleaned your plate tonight, so if you liked my cooking that much, you can't be all that bad."

I laughed loudly, and quickly stopped, embarrassed. My laugh was kind of embarrassing, that's why I tried not to laugh very often. He was smiling at me again. Why was he smiling so much lately? To both my relief and my displeasure, he rose from my bed and walked out the door. He stuck his head back in and leaned on the knob, winking.

"Goodnight, Sonny." Chad smiled that attractive half-grin, and closed the door behind him before I could retort. As much as I tried to push it down, a huge smile overtook my face. I changed for bed and snuggled in my new sheets, trying to think of anything but my 'babysitter'.

* * *

><p><strong>CHAD<strong>

_**Almost two weeks later...**_

My alarm clock woke me up _way_ too early for my taste, causing me to bang the snooze button with unnecessary force. I didn't sleep a wink last night. Why, I don't know. But I'm definitely not in the mood to paint any more boats today. Something tells me that Sonny isn't either.

I grinned to myself sleepily at the nickname. I don't know if I liked it so much because she didn't, or because I thought it suited her much better than Allison. With every passing day, it seemed to suit her better and better, and I'd almost gotten to the point where I never even referred to her by 'Allison' anymore. Not that there is anything wrong with that name, but Sonny was so much more... I don't know... fitting.

If someone came up to me a month ago and told me that the girl I live with now is the same person as the girl that I first met about four weeks ago, I wouldn't believe them. Is Sonny perfectly nice, thoughtful, and caring now? Ha, _no_. But has she gotten less terrible to be around? _Yes_. Noticeably so. I actually look forward to having someone accompany me to work now, someone helpful (she tries) and fun to be around. Now that she's coming out of her hard shell a bit, Sonny is pretty funny. Not to mention, she's become a lot more optimistic. Every now and then I'll see the old her coming out, but if it does, it doesn't stay for long... she'll normally notice that she's doing it and she'll push it down. I can't put into words how much I appreciate her self-initiated attitude adjustment.

My mind beginning to wake up and process what was on my agenda for today, I threw the covers off and ran my hands over my sleepy face a few times. To my surprise, the door opened and a bright light poured in from the hallway, causing me to squint in pain. I sleep with the blinds closed, and the sudden bright overhead light from the hallway attacked my eyes.

"Wake up, sleepyhead!" came a voice that was a little too cheery for this time in the morning. I couldn't believe what I was hearing. Was Sonny actually awake _before me_? I HAD to be dreaming. I slowly opened my eyes, still squinting. My voice was gruff with sleep when I replied.

"Sonny Munroe is up before _me_?!" my voice crackled in surprise. "The world is ending!"

"Oh, shut up, Chad," she rolled her eyes, slapping my shoulder. Since I didn't have a shirt on, it stung a little more than I'm sure she intended. Maybe. Her face-eating smile quickly replaced itself on her face. I noticed that she was already dressed, wearing one of my old t-shirts from high school and a pair of shorts that we bought her a few weeks ago. Considering that California girl only brought designer clothes, we had to go on a shopping trip for work clothes. She was excited until I told her what we were shopping for, then she pickily chose cheap shorts in neutral colors with her nose wrinkled and a scowl on her face. She made sure to mention that the quality of the clothing must be terrible since the shorts and shirts were only about five to ten dollars a piece. Even though she might not admit it, I've noticed that she likes to wear them to more than just work. I smirked to myself.

_Comfortable, aren't they, Munroe?_ I thought smugly.

"Chad, c'mon!" she whined again, taking my arm and shaking me. My eyes had been closed again for I'm not sure how long.

"You actually _want_ to go to work today?" I asked, my voice still weak from sleep. "It's official. Armageddon is here." Sonny didn't complain as much, but she surely never initiated working. Was she actually starting to enjoy it? I didn't dare ask, afraid that I'd ruin this once-in-a-lifetime moment.

"You're so rude," she said, somewhat playfully, this time nudging my leg with her foot. "Come on, Cooper, we're gonna be late. I let your lazy butt sleep in for a few extra minutes. Your welcome." I groaned in protest. "Don't make me get the bucket!"

I suddenly was very much awake.

She laughed boisterously as I hopped out of bed, my hair sticking in every direction, glaring at her.

"You're using my own tricks against me, Munroe," I nodded proudly, stretching with a wide yawn. "You're doing well, young grasshopper."

Sonny just giggled her signature giggle and punched me in my stomach, turning on her heel and walking towards the kitchen. I ran my hand through my hair and closed my door, hastily getting dressed, and rubbing the sleep from my eyes. Today was beginning so backwards! Next thing I know _she'll_ be teaching _me_ how to shoot a gator.

When I walked groggily into the kitchenette, she was sitting at the table with her legs crossed Indian-style in her chair, shoveling spoonfuls of Lucky Charms into her mouth. I shook my head and clicked my tongue disapprovingly. Without stopping to speak, she continued to eat, just raising her eyebrows in an irked way.

"You can't just eat pure sugar for breakfast, Sonny," I scolded, pulling the carton of eggs out of the refrigerator, as well as the bacon. "You've got to have some protein or you'll be dying by lunch time."

She just rolled her eyes. "Sorry, Oh Great One."

I hastily cracked some eggs into a frying pan and popped some toast into the toaster. I began to cook the bacon as well, watching hungrily as it sizzled and popped tauntingly. "Suit yourself. But I'm not filling up on all of that junk and milk before we get out in the hot sun." It was hard to hear over the loud sizzling of the eggs and bacon, but she was quiet for a moment. Before I knew it, she sighed loudly and dumped the rest of the cereal into the sink, watching me pointedly with an annoyed look on her face. She knew I was right. If there's one thing she's learned over the past few weeks, it's to take my advice. She has been stubborn a few times, and by the end of the day, found out the hard way that I knew what I was talking about. Now she usually listens, but not without shooting an irritated glare or two my way. "Good choice," I smirked. She laughed at me when I jumped in pain and surprise as some of the grease popped onto my arm. "Want me to make you some?"

"Sure," she muttered in defeat before returning to her perch at the table.

In a few minutes flat, I had all of the food ready, letting her take as much as she wanted first. It's the gentlemanly thing to do. We ate hurriedly, in silence, and to my surprise, she was done before hardly half of my plate was empty. She rushed out the door, sticking her tongue out at me victoriously, and ran to the truck. I gulped down my last piece of bacon and toast and ran out to meet her. What was up with her rushing today? It was throwing me off. I started to feel suspicious, but I tried to ignore it. If she wanted to work, I wasn't going to question it!

Today was a big day, but I hadn't told her about it, afraid she'd have some kind of objection to using a gun or something. Alligator season started today, and Buford and I were taking her along while we checked lines. I had our tags in the cup holder (not that she knew what they were), and I was brimming with excitement. She watched me cautiously as she turned the radio to the pop station that came in with a lot of static, but I didn't say a word. I was too excited. This was my favorite time of year and my favorite part of my job. Building things, painting things, and running a lot of different errands for Mr. John was one thing, but hunting, especially hunting that was as hands-on as hunting for gators, was another.

"You're in a surprisingly good mood," Sonny commented, her brows furrowed in suspicion. I shrugged my shoulders.

"It's a nice day out," I lied. It was actually pretty overcast.

Sonny looked up at the sky through the windshield and turned to look at me with her eyes narrowed into slits. "It is not. What are we doing today? Painting? Emptying warehouses? Do I get to help you repair boats?"

I laughed. "Not exactly." She waited for more but I didn't go on. She huffed impatiently.

"Well?" she asked again, crossing her arms. "What are we doing today, Chad?"

"You'll see." I couldn't help but smile at her cluelessness. She groaned, annoyed that I wasn't telling her, and I smiled even bigger. It was fun picking on her, I'm not gonna lie. She just makes it so easy!

"Why won't you tell me?" she scowled, shoving my shoulder.

"Excuse me, Miss, I'm going to have to ask you not to interfere with the driver," I teased, assuming a snobby tone and looking down my nose at the steering wheel. "For your own personal safety."

I could tell she was holding back a smile. It wasn't hard to make her laugh. I've discovered over the past few weeks that, underneath that convincing rich-girl act, she's actually a pretty cheerful person.

"Chaa-ad," she said in a sing-songy voice, smiling that smile that she always uses when she wants something. Her hand stroked my right arm flirtily, and I ignored the tingles that shot up my arm and into the rest of my body. "_Please_ tell me what our job is today." She batted her eyelashes at me.

She's nuts if she thinks I'm falling for that. "Sonny..."

"Tell me, come on." She stared at me, propping her elbow on the little storage console between the seats and resting her chin in her hand. The corner of her mouth turned up into a seductive little smile. "You know you wanna..." Her other hand continued to stroke my arm, stopping to play with the sleeve of my t-shirt. I hated how much that actually distracted me. I tried to jerk my arm out of her reach.

"You're gonna make me wreck the truck," I tried to joke, but I was halfway serious. Her big brown eyes continued to stare at me in that wanting way, and I squirmed under her stare. We were almost there, right?

"You won't wreck it if you tell me what we're doing today," she grinned persuasively, her hand running up to my shoulder. The chill that ran down my spine was almost too much.

"Patience is a virtue, Sonny," I tried to say seriously, but all I could think about was her roaming hand. I wanted her to stop, but at the same time, it bothered me how much I _didn't_ want her to stop.

"Since when I am virtuous?" she teased, laughing that laugh that gave me a warm feeling in my chest every time I heard it. She knew exactly what she was doing.

"We're... hunting..." I slowly spat out, struggling to keep my attention on the winding road. "But-but we're almost there. You'll see soon enough." _Please, Lord, let us be close_, I prayed. I couldn't take much more of her 'persuading'.

"Hunting?" she repeated, her hand finally leaving my skin. I sighed, halfway in relief and halfway in disappointment. Her voice was nervous. "So I'm going to—to have to kill something?"

"That's what hunting is," I stated in a 'duh' tone. She scowled.

"I am _not_ killing a cute, little, defenseless bunny rabbit," she crossed her arms and shook her head.

"And you're not going to have to," I retorted simply.

"I'm not shooting a deer either!" she argued, sure that she was right this time. "You can't make me!"

"I'm not asking you to shoot a deer," I said calmly, smiling to myself in relief as we pulled beside the bayou bank. I climbed out of the little red truck and went around to open her door for her, but she was already out and slamming it shut. She turned to me and planted her feet, her arms still crossed. Sonny narrowed her brown eyes at me again and I couldn't help but think that she looked like a suspicious puppy, about to investigate a sound that she heard in the yard. I grinned at this thought and her eyes narrowed even more. She looked back and forth between me and the calm, muddy waters of the swamp.

Her eyes suddenly widened, as if in realization. "We're shooting ducks, then, aren't we?" she demanded. "We're by the water, that has to be it!"

I shook my head in a smug satisfaction, smirking down at her. Sonny was so fun to tease. Her face turned pink in frustration.

"Hey, dude!" a voice interrupted us, and my eyes shot up to see Buford unhitching the boat from his car a few feet away. "You ready for gator season this year, man?! I'm pumped!"

My eyes shot back to Sonny to see complete terror etched on her face. "_What_?" she asked me quietly. "You—you were serious about making me learn to shoot those?" The fear that radiated from every inch of her body only amused me. I'd been doing this ever since I could remember, and seeing someone so upset by it was something that I just couldn't understand. "Chad, you don't understand, I—I can't—"

"Sure you can," I laughed harmlessly, swinging an arm around her shoulders, pulling her closer to me. She tensed as I leaned down until our faces were level. "Sonny, it's really not that bad. I've been doing this since I was five or six."

Her brows furrowed in confusion. "Who would put a five or six year old through that?!" she exclaimed, my words clearly not comforting her. "That's terrible! Those things are—they—they can kill you!"

"Yeah, they can," I shrugged nonchalantly, my arm still around her as I pulled her towards the boat, which Buford had almost completely in the water by now, "but not if you're careful and if you know what you're doing."

"But I don't know what I'm doing!" she hissed at me, and I just smiled at her.

"I know that," I stated obviously, turning her to face me. I put both hands on her arms. "Look, at first, you're just going to watch me and Buford do it, over and over again until you know what to do. We'll eventually start you out with a little one. You'll have to hold the line while one of us shoots, and then we'll show you how to shoot, okay? I've got a smaller gun with almost no kickback that we brought for you." Her eyes continued to search mine confusedly, in a panic. I sighed and made sure that I held her intimidated stare. "Look, Sonny, I'm not gonna let anything happen to you, okay? You've got to trust me. People do this all the time."

Her eyebrows pulled together in stress, her shoulders moving up and down as she deeply inhaled and sighed. "You—you and Buford should just do it, I'll get in the way."

I shook my head. "Nope. This is part of what I'm supposed to be teaching you. There's no getting out of it."

"But what if I keep you two from beating Dylan and... whatever the stupid guy's name is that grabbed my ass?" she still tried to convince me. Anger arose in me at the memory, but I pushed it away. We needed to get down to business.

"Look, I've got you," I told her quietly, holding her brown eyes in my blue ones. "You're not gonna get hurt while I'm around." She watched my face, unsure. "Don't you trust me, Sonny?"

She whimpered and looked at the ground, then back to me again. "Of course I do, but—"

"No 'but's," I cut her off. I winked at her. "You can do this."

Her eyes shot away from my face and color started to come back to hers. I noticed it was a bit pink. "I've never even shot a gun before."

"No problem," I smiled at her, putting my arm around her shoulders again and leading her to the boat, holding her hand to help her keep her balance as she stepped down into it. "We'll do some target practice first. We made sure that we got you a sissy gun." I nudged her playfully.

"It really ain't that bad, Sonny," Buford offered hopefully, starting the motor as I climbed in and beginning to steer us deeper into the murky water. Sonny quickly took a seat, her eyes wide, holding onto the edge of the chair as if for dear life. I realized that this was the first time she'd been in a boat since she'd gotten here. "Half of the people in this town know how to hunt gators," he shrugged. I smiled. Not long after Sonny's little 'incident' with Buford that day a few weeks ago, she decided to meet him again not long after and set the record straight, apologizing for her behavior (thanks to my constant nagging).

I rolled my eyes at her tense figure and took a seat beside her, bumping her shoulder with mine. She didn't look at me.

"Come on, Munroe," I bumped her again, "look at me." She hesitantly glanced in my general direction, but still didn't meet my eyes. Realizing that that was probably the most I was getting from her at this point, I leaned my head down until I could see her fearful brown eyes. My face was inches from hers. "Ya know, you need to smile. I don't like this sulky Sonny that's scared of her own shadow."

"I'm not scared of my own shadow," she snapped, embarrassed. "I'm scared of an alligator eating me alive."

"Like I'd let that happen," I rolled my eyes, playfully hitting my knee on hers. "Who would I have around to tease then, huh?"

She glared at me for a moment, but it was halfhearted. "What if I shoot myself by accident, or you? What if I shoot a hole in the boat?" Her eyes cast downwards again.

"Then I'd throw you to the gators," I shrugged, smiling. Her wide eyes met mine accusingly and I quickly started laughing. "I'm kidding, Sonny, lighten up! None of that is gonna happen, okay? I bet by the end of the day, you'll be better than me and Buford put together." I wrapped my arm around her shoulders again, but this time I hugged her to my chest. Buford began to pick up speed, and the breeze blew towards us. I could suddenly smell her sweet shampoo.

"If I almost die today, I'm totally gonna kill you," she finally said, talking into my shirt. I felt her giggle against me and I couldn't help the smile that overtook my face.

"_There's_ the Sonny I know," I nodded. She pulled back enough to look at me, her eyes hesitant but flickering with joy. A small smile tugged at the corners of my mouth, and I winked, prompting that face-eating grin from Sonny that was so bright that the sun envied it.

With a humiliation that shook me from head to toe, I realized that I was staring at her. Buford chose that exact moment to call out, "Hey, lovebirds, we're coming up to the first line! You two can do all that when you get back to the house!"

As fast as lightening, I withdrew my arm from around her shoulders and shot out of the seat, walking to front of the boat with feigned interest and a hot blush on my cheeks. I did everything I could to avoid her eyes, afraid of what I'd see in them.

Trying to distract myself and calm down my heart rate, which I just now realized was pounding in my ears, I called back to Buford, "It looks like a monster, man!" I saw huge bubbles rising to the surface of the water, and swishing waves coming from the massive creature's tail.

This was gonna be a big one.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: What are you guys thinking regarding Sonny and Chad's relationship? What do you think is about to happen next? What do you _want_ to happen? Review, please! :)**

**By the way, please go on my profile and participate in my new poll! I'm thinking about changing my pen name! :)**


	16. Chapter 16

**CHAD**

The muddy swamp water swirled like a submerged water spout, ominous and luring. My hands itched for the rifle, the somewhat embarrassing incident with Sonny already far from my mind. How big would this monster be? Was it worthy of rubbing in Dylan's and Langford's faces? Who was I kidding, of course it would be! Anything Buford and I caught during gator season outranked in quality, size, and every other category you could possibly think of when compared to those assholes' catches. But Dylan and Langford were quickly driven out of my mind as a trunk of a tail came slashing through the water like a knife, smashing against the boat with such ferocity that I wondered if the reptile hadn't tried to damage the boat on purpose. This surprised me, considering that gators normally stayed towards the bottom of the water until someone hoisted the line and drug them up. This thing was ready for a fight. But unluckily for it, so was I.

My eyes hungrily grazed the water top, taking in the churning waters, the large bubbles, the straining line. My heart thumped in my chest like an overly-enthusiastic drummer. I noticed how sweaty my palms were as I cautiously balanced on the edge of the boat and reached toward the line. This was what I loved most about gator hunting: the adrenaline rush. I could think of nothing else.

"You ready, Buford?" I asked, anticipation ripe in my voice. I suddenly sensed him beside me, rifle in hand. I could almost have sworn that I heard his heart thumping too.

"You ain't even gotta ask, bro," was Buford's breathy reply. I heard the safety on the gun click off. My heart pounded wildly in answer.

I leaned forward and closed the distance between myself and the line. My clammy palms took hold of the steel cord, gripping it tightly as I slowly drug the line toward the boat. Once I was sure that my footing was sure and secure, I began to pull the line upward. I almost gasped at the weight of the force resisting me. Either this thing was a monster, or I was really out of practice. And for the sake of everyone on this boat, I hoped it wasn't the latter.

The slow but powerful churning of the water transformed into quick splashing and thrashing as a huge, almost black, scaly body emerged through the surface. Buford whooped a screaming battle cry in excitement, and if I hadn't been so concentrated on not falling into the water with this monster, I would have copied him.

"It's beautiful, man!" Buford yelled over the loud commotion of the water. "It's Grandaddy Long-Tail!"

"We're—not—calling him that!" I managed to grunt, fighting desperately to hold the gator above the water so Buford would have clear aim at the quarter-sized kill spot behind the gator's head. If the bullet hit anywhere else, it would just ricochet and do nothing but piss the gator off, which would _not_ be helpful for me. "Hurry up, man! Shoot him!"

"I'm tryin', I'm tryin'!" he yelled back, the butt of the gun snug to his shoulder and the barrel pointing towards the almost indistinguishable, hectic mix of gator body parts and splashing water. "I can't get a clear aim!"

"You're gonna have to!" I screamed, sore and aggravated. "I can't hold him up for much longer!"

The only reply I heard was a loud bang beside my right ear. The thrashing only got worse and more angry, and I heard the low rumble of a pissed off gator as his jaws opened wide, flashing rows of razor sharp teeth. I heard Buford curse, and he raised the gun again. The monster sank below the waves, despite my resisting arms, and tried to swim beneath the boat. I _could not_ allow this to happen. If the gator and the line went far enough beneath the us, the monster could speed toward the surface on the other side and flip us over.

That would not be good.

"He's trying to go under the boat, man! You've got to shoot him!"

"I will! I'm doin' my best!"

"Well _do better_!"

With the last drop of my strength, I pulled the gator back to the surface with all of my might. With horror, I realized that the hook was barely still attached to the its mouth. We didn't have much time. I was sure Buford saw this, because his finger suddenly got a little trigger-happy. _Boom, boom, boom! _But none of the bullets hit their target, and the gator roared in fury. With a ferocious whip of its tail and a snapping of its jaws, the monster disappeared, and all was uncharacteristically quiet. The water was still and the line was slack. All I heard was the soft chirping of birds, the humming of insects, the barely audible wind, and a long line of curse words streaming like a waterfall from Buford's mouth.

It'd escaped.

"_Damn it, damn it, damn it_!" Buford fumed, throwing the rifle into the back of the boat with a loud clatter. "We almost had 'im!"

I stared down dejectedly at my red hands, stinging from the painful friction of the line. It was never good when your first gator of the season got away. Around these parts, it was seen as bad luck. I sighed and stared at the motionless water that had, only a few seconds ago, been thrashing with the power of my beastly prey. We almost never lost one, even the big ones. Buford and I were the most successful in the business for a reason.

I heard a small whimper, and all at once, I remembered that Sonny was in the boat with us. How could I have forgotten that she was with us? She could've helped me hold the line, and maybe we would have caught that monster! But when I saw the look on her face, I quickly detracted that thought. She would have gone nowhere near that thing. I took in her colorless cheeks and wide, horrified eyes, and knew that we had our work cut out for us.

Sonny had retreated to the back of the boat, as far away from the action as she possibly could be. She sat on the small padded chair in front of the motor with her arms crossed tightly, defensively. Her lips were in a tight line and her eyes stayed glued to the water, even when she spoke.

"What... what...?" she stammered, head shaking back and forth slowly as she tried to gather her thoughts. "What was... that... thing? I didn't know—so... _big_. Teeth! That... the teeth!"

"Yeah, they have teeth," Buford deadpanned, exchanging a look with me as if a five year old had just asked if birds had wings.

"So _big_!" she squeaked, her eyes finally meeting mine. Her stare was somewhat accusing. "You... Chad, you almost got pulled over the edge by that thing! You seriously expect me to be able to do that?!"

I shrugged, not understanding what the big deal was. "It's not like we're gonna let you tackle ones that big! At least not right now. We'll give you the little ones."

"I have a feeling that your definition of little and _my_ definition of little are very different."

"Sonny, how many times do I have to tell you, I'm not gonna let you get hurt, and I'm not gonna let you take on something that you can't handle!" I reminded her irritably. I was starting to get angry. Was she insane, thinking that I'd put her in a situation that was even mildly similar to what I'd just dealt with?! Didn't she trust me at all?!

"Chad, sometimes things get out of control! I've never shot a gun, I could accidentally shoot myself or shoot one of you! What if I damage the boat? What if I get hurt or am the reason someone else gets hurt? What if one of you get pulled out of the boat because of me? What if—?"

"_Sonny_!" I shouted, fists clenching and unclenching by side. "Look, you have _got_ to calm down, and you have _got_ to trust me. And Buford," I added for good measure. "We know what we're doing, and we aren't going to let anything happen. The only reason things wouldn't go well is because you are psyching yourself out, but either way, teaching you to do this _is my job_. So you will do it. Now, either calm down and we'll approach this like the fun and exciting thing that it is, or you can be on edge all day and prove everyone right."

She was silent, pouting, but then she suddenly straightened up. "What do you mean, 'prove everyone right'?" There was a small fire in her eyes.

I hid my smirk. "Oh, nothing. Come on, Buford, let's get going. On to the next one." He exchanged a put-out look with me as he headed towards Sonny's current seat in front of the motor. She held up her hand.

"No, no, no, wait," she demanded, making Buford stop mid-stride. He turned back towards me, groaning and sticking out his hip in exasperation. "What did you mean by that?"

I lifted and dropped my shoulders harmlessly, knowing that with every gesture, I was pushing another one of her buttons. She glared as she waited for an answer. Buford glared at me too, tired of the holdup. Neither of these two were known for their patience.

"I mean, you're the city girl," I said, trying to hide my growing smugness as the fire in her eyes grew with my every word. "Everyone's seen you walking around town in your skirts and stitetos—"

"_Stilletos—_"

"Whatever. My point is, no one expects you to go above-and-beyond with anything around here, really. The people in these parts know that this is your dad's idea of the ultimate timeout. No one thinks you're gonna be able to do anything much, to be able to help. They know better. You've been spoon-fed your whole life, never made to do anything that you didn't want to do, never had to work for anything you have, so why should this be any different?"

Sonny was out of the seat before I'd even finished. Her face was a mix of hurt and anger. "Is that what you really think of me, Chad? That I'm some spoiled brat that can't do anything for herself?!"

I quickly threw my hands up in surrender, shaking my head. "No, no, not me! Those aren't my words! You had to know, so I told you."

With a huff, Sonny spun on her heel and marched to the back of the boat, and in one swift motion, picked up the rifle, stomped back towards me, shoved the gun into my hands, and looked me fiercely in the eyes.

"Come on, country boy. Time for target practice."

"Good," I said, finally allowing the smirk to overtake my face. _There she is_, I thought.

"Good."

"Fine."

"Fine."

"Good."

"OKAY, everything's honky-dory, can we get back to hunting now?!" Buford cut in, clearly steaming. "We don't have all year, ya know! There's actually a deadline with these things!" He waved the tags around in the air. "We could've killed two gators by now!"

My eyes pulled away from Sonny's chocolate ones with some difficulty, both aggravated and feeling guilty. I nodded in agreement and stepped around Sonny. She was fired up now, and as much as I wanted to take advantage of her sudden gusto while it was still so fresh, I knew that we didn't have enough time to pull over on a shore somewhere to practice shooting with our beginner. I explained to Sonny our dilemma and that we couldn't show up at the end of the day empty handed. Not only would Dylan and Langford refuse to let us forget it, but Mr. John would have my head. She rolled her eyes and sat down on an overturned bucket, tossing me the rifle, and putting her chin in her hands. She reminded me so much of an irritated puppy when she was mad.

With a sarcastic grunt and mumblings that sounded strangely like 'argue like an old married couple...', Buford aimed the motor and we took off down the water, the sights and smells of our surroundings hitting us full on in the face. How I loved the muddy, mysteriously beautiful lady that was the Louisiana swamp. She would bring us fortune this season. I just knew it.

* * *

><p><strong>ALLISON<strong>

Chad's face was the most priceless thing I'd ever seen.

I helped Buford as we drug into the boat the fifth stinky reptile of the day, swamp water splashing onto my face from its skin as I bent down to overturn it and pull a tag through the end of it's tail. The hot sun beat on the back of my neck and I readjusted the messy bun that was flopping around on top of my head. For once in my life, I didn't care what was all over my hands or what I'd probably just gotten all in my hair. The sense of accomplishment that pulsed through my veins and the look of disbelief that was glued to Chad's face was better than any high I'd ever experienced.

I'd just shot my first gator with the small pistol that Chad had packed for me, and I'd done it on my first try. Sure, Buford had no trouble holding the thing still, considering that it couldn't be longer than 4 feet, but I hadn't hesitated, I hadn't missed, and the shot was quick and clear. The instructions on how and where to shoot were barely out of Chad's mouth before I held the gun steady and pulled the trigger. The tiny gator's body went limp and I hungrily reached for it, reached for the first shred of proof that what everyone thought of me was wrong. I wasn't that girl anymore, the one that waited while others waited on her, the one that refused to take any chances or to dirty an outfit. I would show my independence. I would show my worth. And this gator was another stepping stone on the road to my success. First, I (mostly) successfully changed my attitude towards not only Chad, but towards my life and the way that I dealt with situations. Now I would change the misconceptions that were associated with that _other_ me, the one that I was not proud of being or of having ever been. Whether those misguided assumptions were about my hunting abilities or about more substantial parts of my life, I wouldn't stand idly by and allow others to control my image, my idea of self worth. Chad's shocked face was the first of many that I was determined to cause. I will be that person that I want to be, and if to get there I have to get my hands... and the rest of me... dirty, then so be it. Bring on the mud, the slime, the sweat. I am ready for it.

I stood up, stretched, popped my sore back (which made Buford grimace), and turned to face Chad. His blue eyes were almost clouded with confusion and shock. If I weren't so proud of myself, I'd be offended.

"So, Cooper, the sun is starting to go down. Isn't that usually when we go dump these guys—" I nudged the stack of dead gators with my foot "—over in Uncle John's truck and head home?"

"Uh... yeah..." he answered, brows pulling together as he turned to pack up some equipment and start the motor. Buford grinned boyishly at me and nodded like a proud father, raising his huge hand in the air.

"High five, Munroe!" he laughed as my hand collided with his rough one in victory. "First damn try! And you've never shot a gun before?"

"Nope," I shook my head, not making any effort to hide my smug, face-eating grin. All they had to do was spend a minute or two explaining to me how it worked, where the safety switch was, how to load it, and how to hold and aim. No practice necessary.

"Damn, Chad, she's a natural!" Buford bellowed over his shoulder to Chad.

"I know," was his detached, monotone answer. He didn't make eye contact with either one of us as he sped the accelerator and we flew back towards the bank that we came from. This would have bothered me more if I wasn't practically oozing confidence, but I had to admit, I'd pictured the moment differently. I'd seen Chad maybe hugging me, spinning me around, telling me how he knew I could do it all along and that he'd never once believed a single thing that any gossiping redneck had said about me. But he didn't. After the gator went limp, Buford cried out in surprise and excitement, but Chad just stood there with his mouth hanging open. If I hadn't been so happy and surprised myself, I might have asked him what he thought or if he was proud of me, but I didn't want to seem desperate. Maybe once we got to back to the bank and unloaded our catch, he'd snap out of whatever offensively surprised mindset he was in.

I decided to focus on something less troubling. I closed my eyes, took a deep breath in through my nose and out through my mouth, and thoroughly enjoyed the sensation of the wind blowing so hard against my sweaty and tired body. It swept through my clothes and cooled me. The smell of the swamp had been unpleasant at first, but now that my nose had adjusted, there was a pleasant... _mustiness_ to it. A thousand individual smells were dancing together through the air, and I tried to pay attention to each one. I opened my eyes and for the first time, really seemed to see and appreciate the stunning sunset. The glowing orange twisted and combined with beautiful shades of pink and purple, intertwining with paint whisks of white and light gray clouds. A few ducks flew across the horizon, their tiny black shapes only serving to make the already lovely picture absolutely perfect.

The serenity of my little happy place faded only too quickly as I realized we were slowing to approach land. Chad's small truck waited for us, along with an unfamiliar white RAM pickup and a painfully familiar black Ford F-150. Three figures were chatting with their arms crossed, two leaning against the black truck, one leaning against the white. As we neared, I realized with a jolt of panic who two of the figures were—Dylan and Langford. But relief washed over me as I saw the familiar Mossy Oak cap worn by the third figure, my uncle. They wouldn't dare to try anything with him around, would they?

"It's about time, Cooper!" Dylan exclaimed as our boat came to a rest at the grass. "We'd thought maybe your 'monster gator' ate you all up!"

"Shut up," I heard both Buford and Chad mutter under their breaths, leaning down to pick up a gator or two. I leaned over as well and preoccupied myself with gathering a few containers of bait and hooks. A low, threatening rumble erupted from nearby, and my eyes snapped up to find Chad glaring murderously at Dylan and Langford.

"What's wrong, Chaddy-boy?" Dylan asked, feigning innocence for some offense of which I didn't know. "Pissed off that we got more gators than you today?"

"I don't give a damn about that," he growled through clenched teeth.

"Boys," my uncle said warningly, standing up straighter and stepping in between our boat and the black truck. "Cut it out."

"Tell _them_ to cut it out," Chad seethed. "They need to keep their eyes to themselves!"

In a flash, and with a wild flush, I understood. I snapped up and turned to face them, making sure that my butt was well out of view.

John's glare was lethal as the two perverts tried to act clueless. "I've got no clue what Cooper's talkin' about," Dylan shrugged, "but I think he's just tryin' to get us in your bad graces because he's pissed that we out-fished them today."

"You caught _two_ more gators," my uncle rolled his eyes. His face was turning red and his forehead was wrinkling the way it normally did when he was about to scream at someone. I'd noticed a few patterns in my last couple of weeks here. "You two put your eyes back in your skulls or I'll do it for ya! Y'all turned in your gators, I'm done with ya, now go home. You know you don't get overtime." Buford and Langford muttered under their breaths as they climbed into the Ford, then John yelled at them for being smart asses. I smirked. Chad and Buford were never yelled at like that. It was clear to see who the favorites were, as they should be. John's face was a little disappointed, though, as Chad and Buford emptied the load of small to medium-sized gators. "Only five, y'all?"

"Yes, sir," Buford sighed. "We, uh, kinda used today as a training session for Sonny too. And we had a giant on the hook this mornin'!"

"We almost had it," Chad groaned, single-handedly throwing two gators into the back of John's truck. I tried not to stare. "The hook was on the edge of it's gum, and he was puttin' up a fight. We were so close, but he got away."

"How big do ya think?" my uncle asked, climbing on top of one of the RAM's back wheels to observe the new gators added to the pile already there.

"At least fourteen feet," Chad breathed, running a hand through his messy blonde hair. Sweat flew in all directions. I didn't care, I wasn't in the splash zone. Besides, he looked more like a Hollister model at the moment than disgusting and mud-covered. Again, I had to make myself not stare. I distracted myself by popping open the cooler in the back of Chad's truck and pulling out an ice cold water. My chipped nails suddenly became very interesting as Chad came behind me and reached around my body to grab a drink himself, still in conversation with his boss over the size of the behemoth gator. I tried to hide the shiver that was threatening to go down my spine. But my attention was suddenly directed elsewhere when I heard my name.

"So, how did my niece do today? Did she even touch a gun?" John asked, chuckling at himself. He appraised my dirty appearance and his brows raised in surprise.

"Actually, she's a natural!" Buford burst proudly, clapping me on the back as he came around us to grab a refreshment as well. "She killed a gator on her first try, with her first ever shot! Yeah, she used the pistol, but still! Never fired a gun in her life and put that gator to sleep."

John looked severely impressed. He struggled to find words for a moment. "No, you're pullin' my chain." Again, my emotions were torn between feeling triumphant and offended.

"Nope! Swear I ain't!" Buford laughed. "Ain't that right, Chad?"

My eyes snapped to him, and to my dismay, the guarded cloud of surprise and... some other emotion... shadowed Chad's face. He didn't look at me, or at anyone. Just at the ground.

"Uh, yeah, she did," he said, his tone a mixture of attempted nonchalance and obvious disbelief. "She sure did. Shot it right in the back of the head. First try with a gun. No trouble at all."

"Well, well!" John said. He laughed in happy surprise. "Good job, missy! Guess it runs in the blood." He suddenly looked uncomfortable. "Not your dad's, of course, he didn't... uh... hunt much. My blood in your veins, I guess."

I tried to smile kindly. I really didn't feel like small talk anymore. I was ready to go back to Chad's house and try to figure out what this cloud was that had taken over my normally-chipper blonde 'babysitter'. I honestly had thought he'd be proud of me. Wasn't he happy that I'd picked up on everything so quickly? It was less time he had to waste trying to reteach me!

As if my uncle was on the same brainwave, he suddenly fished his keys out of his dirty pants pocket and opened the driver's side door of his truck.

"It's almost dark, I've gotta get to the buyer," he said, waving goodbye. "See y'all Monday." Without waiting for a reply, he closed his door and roared the engine to life, the gravel soon crunching beneath his large tires as he drove away into the trees.

"I've gotta head back, too, man," Buford turned and said to Chad, doing that weird handshake-one-arm-hug things that guys always do. "Mom'll kill me if I'm late and show up smelling like a sewer. It's 'family movie night'." He rolled his eyes and joked about escaping through a window and coming to Chad's place. Buford climbed onto a four-wheeler that was masked behind a few thick brushes and was gone.

I turned with a big smile to Chad, who wasn't looking at me. I struggled for something to say, feeling oddly rejected. "So, uh, I'd say today wasn't too terrible, huh?" I playfully nudged his arm, but instead of pushing me back, smiling, or even acknowledging me, Chad just turned and went to the driver's side of his small red truck. Confused and starting to feel a little angry, I followed to the passenger side. I didn't argue as he immediately changed the radio station to country, throwing the gear into reverse and quickly backing out of the tight spot that he had parked in. In a flash, he put the gear into drive and we pulled onto the gravel, heading back towards the road that had become familiar in the past few weeks. The blur of green outside of my window did nothing to calm me.

"Chad..." I began, trying to keep my voice steady, "did—did I do something to upset you? Did an insult slip out of me or something?" There was silence. "Why aren't you talking to me?"

Chad sighed. His blue eyes flashed to me for only a second, then back to the road. "It's so stupid."

My brows knitted together. "I... don't understand. What's so stupid?"

To my complete surprise, Chad actually laughed. His mood swings were killing me! Did we need to swing by a gas station and pick him up some Mydol? He shook his head, smiling to himself.

"It's ridiculous."

"_What's_ ridiculous?" I questioned, scowling. "Chad, I thought you'd be... I don't know, proud of me. Or impressed, or something. I mean, it was on my first try! Aren't you happy? Less time you have to waste trying to teach me and more time we can spend hunting, right?"

He looked over at me, his sapphire eyes softer. He sighed again. My heart pounded in my chest, waiting for his answer. His approval mattered to me. I don't know why it mattered as much as it did, but it did. And there was no getting around that.

"Sonny." He said my name with remorse, softly. My eyes scrutinized his every movement, his every word, trying to decipher his odd behavior. "I'm so sorry if I... hurt your feelings in any way. I _am_ proud of you, I _am_ impressed. Very impressed." He laughed in an exasperated way. "I'm just acting like a five year old." My eyes continued to question, so he elaborated. "I was... jealous."

The words didn't compute in my brain. Jealous of what? I voiced this.

"When I was younger... you have no idea how long it took for me to aim well enough to be able to kill a gator in a split second like you did."

"But it was a tiny gator!" I said before I could stop myself. "It was only, what, 4 feet? It was easy to shoot! Why would you be jealous of that?"

"It came so _easy_ to you," he said, and I could see a bit of envy seeping through his words. "Yeah, I was six when Dad taught me, but even for a six year old, I took a long time to pick up on a lot of things. Longer than my friends. All I have to do is tell you what buttons do what and you didn't even need to practice!"

"It's... really not that great..." I stuttered, not knowing what to say. I still couldn't understand why he would let this bother him. He knew so much more than I did about, well, everything besides shopping in high-end designer stores! I told him this too. He smiled at me.

"That's why I said it's so stupid for me to feel that way," he said. "I mean, it doesn't really matter now. I could do so much in my sleep. But... I guess, I'm wondering how long it will be until the teacher becomes the student." I rolled my eyes. "No, really, Sonny! I mean, if you learned to fire a gun and kill a gator in a few minutes, how long will it be before you're as good as me and Buford? A week? Two?"

"I think I just got lucky," I told him. I didn't know if I believed it, but I knew it made him feel better so I stuck with it.

"It won't be long before you don't really need me anymore," he chuckled, but there was a hint of seriousness behind his words. "I don't know, I felt kinda like... impressive, I guess. Teaching you stuff. Passing on my knowledge. But do you really need it?"

"Sure I do, Chad!" I exclaimed in surprise. "Look, I got lucky with the gun. I think you're over-thinking this. You know as well as I do, if I went out there on my own, I'd probably get eaten alive." He grimaced. "It's true. I need you." His look that he gave me when he turned to look at me again nearly made my heart stop and start back again. I begged that my face didn't reveal the embarrassing war going on between my head and my heart. I tried to throw off the sudden intense air in the truck by doing my best Yoda impression. "A young grasshopper I am still."

Chad reached across the middle of the truck cab and shoved my shoulder gently, returning the push that he owed me from the swamp bank. A huge grin broke across my face.

"You _would_ die without me, huh?" he asked, smiling to himself.

"That's for sure," I tried to say jokingly, but to be honest, I wasn't sure how much I was kidding.

"Good."

"Good."

He grinned at me and I was begging to the Lord that my face didn't look as frazzled as I felt. "Fine," I answered, trying to smile back in a friendly, not dumbstruck, way. I couldn't help but notice that, even when he was disgusting and smelled like week-old garbage, his eyes and smile were just as bright as ever.

"Fine," Chad answered softly, and I noticed that his eyes lingered on my face for as long as possible before driving safety became an issue.

I suddenly had a strong desire to touch him. I don't know how or where, but I wanted to be closer to him. The storage console and cup holders between us created a distance that I suddenly despised. But just as my hand involuntarily left my side to close the space between us, I reached up to my hair and pretended to tighten my bun.

What in the world was I thinking? This crush that I'd developed for this blonde heartthrob had to be ignored. Nothing could come of this. And even though my brain constantly repeated this inevitable fact, my pounding heart couldn't hear over its own deafening thumping.

The reality was, I was starting to fall for Chad Dylan Cooper. And there wasn't a single thing I could do about it.


	17. Chapter 17

**CHAD**

"Alright, you two," I sighed, pacing back in forth in front of the small metal boat that struggled to fit not only three people, but three people and a pile of gators, "this is gettin' ridiculous. Absolutely ridiculous. Gator season has been goin' on for almost three weeks now, and... for the first time in the history of, well, ever..." I struggled to get the rest of the bitter, disgusting words out of my mouth, "Dylan and Langford have out-tagged us." Sonny and Buford visibly flinched at my words and my poisonous tone of voice. I switched from pacing to leaning against the side of my truck, my leg anxiously jumpy. "Oh, and by how much, you ask? Only about _fifteen_ tags! This is... just... unacceptable! A disgrace! We can't let this keep happenin'!"

"Chad, we done heard this about ten times already," Buford groaned at me, rolling his eyes and starting to nervously pace as well. "We _know_ that we're behind them on catches, we _know_ that they are catching more than us almost every day, we _know_ that they're a couple of ass-licks that remind us every last chance they get that we're behind—"

"Well, I feel the need to repeat myself!" I scowled back at him, crossing my arms. "Our performance hasn't gone up hardly at all, so it seems like y'all need some reminding."

"Maybe our performance hasn't really gotten better because we are already trying our hardest," Sonny deadpanned, her posture mirroring mine with her arms crossed and brown eyes both exhausted and ablaze. "We work our butts off every day, Chad. You included."

"I know that," I tried to say calmly, but intense aggravation was slipping through the cracks in my facade. "But it's obviously not good enough, is it?"

"Well, what do you expect us to do, man?" Buford asked, still pacing around the boat. "Like Sonny just said, we've been givin' it our all every day. We're doin' the best that we can." He wiped at the sweat pouring down the back of his neck in the afternoon sun. He took off his cap, revealing a sweaty mess of dark curls, ran his hand through his hair in frustration, then replaced the cap. "I mean, dude, think about it. Every damn year for about five years now, we've kicked their ass. Odds are that it can't stay like that every year. They're bound to beat us once in a blue moon."

"See, _that's_ the kind of attitude that we can't have, Buford!" I exclaimed, the height of weeks' worth of aggravation and taunting from those two idiots finally breaking through my carefully-constructed mask. Buford stopped pacing and took a surprised step back at my sudden outburst. "It's like you've already accepted the fact that we're gonna lose! You're resigned to it! No... we can win _every year_! We can beat their asses _every single_ _year_ if we have the right kind of mindset, the right kind of drive, the skill and the determination that we need! There is _nothin'_ we can't do if we set our minds to it! I mean, come _on_, y'all! It's like you don't even care!"

"What? Of course I care!" Buford barked, quickly recovering from his previously shocked look. His eyes were full of anger, and... what was that, hurt? "How could you even say that, man? We've been in this together from the beginnin'! We've been a team, whoopin' not only their asses, but everyone's asses in this thing since we were old enough to hunt on our own! _How,_ in the name of all that's holy, could you say that _I don't care_?!"

I stood up straighter, shoulders tight, fists clenching and unclenching in anger. If Buford, if either of them really cared the way that I did, we wouldn't be in this situation right now! Nothing got under my skin, nothing slithered inside of me and ripped me apart, more than seeing the smirking faces of Dylan and Langford when we would pull up after a long, hard day of work. They were always in exactly the same spot, leaning up against that black truck, across from Mr. John, with this knowing look in their eyes, not even having to see what was in our boat to know that it was nothing compared to what they'd brought back. And just when I'd thought things couldn't get any worse, Mr. John would come investigate our catches. The look on his face and in his eyes was more devastating than anything Dylan and Langford could ever do. He was not only unpleasantly surprised, but he was... disappointed. I'd never experienced Mr. John's disappointment in my whole life. He was like a second father to me. And nothing was more detrimental to not only my pride, but my sense of self worth, when my boss, my father's best friend, and my role model couldn't look at me without a level of questioning, a hint of doubt, the smallest bit of distrust.

It did something to me.

"Well, something's changed, Buford!" I bellowed, approaching him with every ounce of calm and patience completely gone. "I know for a _fact_, you both know for a fact, that I care as much or more than anyone here. I'm the only one who gets up at 4:00 AM every damn morning to make sure that everything is packed and ready to go the _second_ the sun comes over that horizon! I'm the only one who goes out at night to see exactly where all the gators are the most concentrated when they feed, I find their nests, I find the areas where the drag marks in the mud are the heaviest and the deepest so we can get the biggest gators, _I'm_ the one who brings up quotas and _I'm_ the only one who's even bothered asking nearby locals where they've seen the most activity, or if they've seen any gators with legs or arms or tails missing so we'd know where the big bulls are! All you do is show up in the morning, Buford! And half of the time you're late!"

"I was five minutes late a _few_ times—!"

"And that was five minutes that we could've been on the water, five minutes that we could've been hunting—"

"It's not my damn fault that you choose to get up at the crack of dawn every damn mornin'—!"

"No, it's your fault that _you don't_!"

"All of that ain't necessary, man!"

"Do I need to remind you _again_ that we are _fifteen tags behind_?" I seethed, enunciating each word. We were face to face now, fuming. I could feel his hot breath on my face. His nostrils were flaring like an angry bull. "It _is _necessary now! _I_ go the extra mile for this thing while you're busy layin' in bed or stuffing your face with three chicken biscuits from McDonald's!"

Buford's eyes were the size of dinner plates now, and he looked like he was about to punch me in the face, but the effect was lessened by the fact that I was a head taller than him. His face was as red as a tomato, shining with sweat, and I'm sure that I didn't look much different. He let out a long, threatening breath, as if what he was about to do or what he was about to say would be climactic. He looked me straight in the eyes, but I wasn't backing down. I wasn't the one at fault here, and this pattern of laziness and of me pulling all of the weight simply couldn't continue.

"You know what, Chad?" he spat my name. His eyes narrowed, looking me over from head to foot. My jaw stiffened in response. How dare he look at me so judgmentally! I felt my body bow up, testosterone rushing through my veins like a sports car on a highway. His voice was strangely quiet, but with no less venom or conviction. "Doing all of that extra shit, 'goin' the extra mile' as you like to call it, never _used_ to be necessary. Our best has always been good enough, better than good enough! Our best didn't just win, but it _dominated_. Now, we even got an extra person! Yeah, she's a beginner, but she's a hell of a good one! With three people, we shouldn't just be dominatin' now, we should be beatin' the other teams to _death_!" He stepped closer to me, his eyes black with a vengeful fury. "But, we're not. Not even close."

"No shit," I hissed. The muscles in my arms were so tight that it was painful. How badly it wanted to just swing out into a right hook...

"Why do you think that is, Chad?" he asked, but it was obvious that he wasn't waiting for an answer. "Because I can sure as hell assure you that you aren't any better than either one of us. You're so convinced of yourself... you've gotten so good at playin' Holier-Than-Thou that you're completely _blind_."

"Spit it _out_, Buford! What're you tryin' to say?!" I demanded, sick of all of this beating-around-the-bush bull crap that he was pulling. I was so close to hitting him... so close... My closed hands were hot with the steaming blood pulsing through me, screaming at my motionless fists in protest.

"You think that all of this extra bullshit that you're doin' would be helpin' us if we would just pitch in, right?"

"_Yes_, God damn it, that's what I've been sayin' the whole damn time!" I yelled, exasperated. My arm twitched in temptation.

"Well, sorry to break it to you, Chaddy, but that's not the reason why we're the worst damn team in the whole business," he seethed through his teeth. I bristled at the nickname that only Dylan ever used to antagonize me. My boiling hands balled into fists one last time, trembling in anticipation. "You're not doin' all of that useless crap, like getting up early, making this, doing that, talkin' to this fool, that fool, watchin' these gators, watchin' those gators, because you think that you have to give more effort to—"

"I'm picking up the slack!" I screamed.

"Yeah, you sure are." He was talking almost so low that I couldn't hear him, but I could. Perfectly. "But it sure as hell isn't _my_ slack that you're picking up. Or Sonny's, for that matter. You're picking up your _own damn slack_."

"I work harder than—!"

"BULLSHIT, Chad!"

He leaned closer, as if he was about to whisper a secret. My hot breath bounced off of his forehead and back onto my face, making my eyes water.

"What the hell are you tryin'—?"

"Oh, don't play so dumb," he hissed at me. "You don't think I noticed that you've been a little—" his eyes darted to Sonny, who was standing there with an expression of anger and terror on her face, then back to me "—_distracted_?" My eyes searched his accusingly, a feeling of terror starting to mix in with my intense anger, but I had no idea why. He tilted his head to the side, his eyes sparkling with a taunting edge that I'd seen only too many times in the eyes of our rivals these past few weeks. "What?" he laughed at me. It was condescending. "You don't honestly think that I don't pick up on the little things, do ya?" The dread that had sprouted in the pit of my chest was blooming its ugly head and spreading to the rest of my body like an icy sludge. This paralyzing dread, my boiling-hot anger, and my complete confusion were swirling together in a putrid mix of adrenaline and nausea.

I tried to speak. "I h-have no idea what—"

"—what I'm talking about?" he finished for me. My urge to punch him was suddenly replaced by the urge to be sick. The look on his angry face only grew more smug. "Really? Because I think ya do."

I wanted to shoot something back, insult him, say one sentence that would leave him standing there with his chin touching the ground, but my mind had iced over. I felt strangely cold and sweaty. My mouth was dry, and only grew drier as his face contorted into a smirk. Buford walked to the boat, grabbed his half of the equipment, threw a few bags over his shoulders, and walked back to me. In those few seconds, his smirk had only grown.

"Ya know, I bet Mr. John would be oh-so-interested to hear that you can't do your job because you're too busy ogglin' his niece," his whispered to me.

By the time the gears in my brain had defrosted enough to start functioning, he was gone. All that was left of him was a rumbling four-wheeler in the distance and a planted seed of freezing fear creeping through my stomach.


	18. Chapter 18

**C H A D**

Never, in my entire life, have I felt more uncomfortable. Not in fifth grade when someone bumped into me and knocked my coke down my front (mainly in the pants area) on picture day, not on graduation when I stumbled over my gown, bumped into the principle, and almost knocked him offstage, not even when I was 12 and my parents tried to sit me down and explain about 'the birds and the bees'.

Riding in the truck with Sonny Munroe after she only hears about half of my former best friend's accusations towards me has to take the cake. Why? Because, like I said, she only heard half of it.

And she's determined to hear the rest.

"Chad, what did Buford say to you?" she demanded of me, but her tone was somehow still soft. "When he left... you just looked like you were going to be sick. You're as pale as a sheet. What's wrong?"

I refused to answer her, my molars clenched so hard on my tongue that I swore I tasted the irony tang of blood. I could feel the veins in my neck sticking out, my heart pounding in my ears and in my temples. The worst part was, I wasn't completely sure why I was reacting like this. I really felt like I was getting physically sick.

I tried my best to keep my eyes on the road, and not on my stiff, white-knuckled hands that clenched the wheel. Blurs of green flew by us, a squirrel darted across the road far before we were in any danger of hitting it. I could hear loud calls of some nearby mockingbirds. I tried to just focus on these sounds, but instead of calming me, they clouded my head and made it only feel more crowded.

"Chad, are you going to answer me?" Sonny scowled. I could see the confusion and irritation in her eyes through my peripheral vision. I let out a loud and heavy breath through my nose. After a few seconds, she picked up on the fact I wasn't going to answer. Instead of forcing her into silence like I'd hoped, it only seemed to fuel her fire. "Hello?"

I just bit the insides of my cheeks.

Sonny stared at me for a few seconds, her eyes staring angrily and her arms firmly crossed. As if I wasn't uncomfortable enough already, the daggers she was stabbing through the side of my head only made things worse.

"Chad, I understand that you and Buford are upset because things aren't going the way they normally go this season," she began, and I could tell she was struggling to keep her voice even, "but that's no reason for you two to explode on each other like that! I mean, I know that he shows up late sometimes, but that and everything else you complained about never seemed to bother you before! I just think it's kind of hypocritical of you to be totally okay with everything he does until all of a sudden, tags aren't filling as fast as you want, and then you blow up at him." My jaw visibly clenched. "I mean, Chad, you work hard. You really do. We all do. But you're not blameless here."

My nostrils flared and I squeezed the steering wheel even harder. I _had_ to cut in at that.

"What have I been doing wrong?!" I exclaimed, still not looking at her. I couldn't believe she said that! I'd been going above and beyond the call of duty for weeks now!

"Well, no offense, Chad, but ever since we got behind Dylan and Langford, you haven't exactly been the easiest to work with!" she shot back at me. I opened my mouth to throw back a retort, but she interrupted me. "I mean, since the _day_ we got _one_ gator behind, you went crazy-psycho-king-of-the-boat on us! I understand why you're mad. I hate Dylan and Langford too. Especially after that day when we were painting boats, remember?"

I bristled in anger, feeling heat shoot down my spine. How could I _not_ remember that day? Their perverted stares, me shoving Sonny behind me, the way they violated her. Whenever they were nearby, I always stood between Sonny and them, making it clear that they weren't getting anywhere near her. Thinking about that only grew my hatred for the two, adding fuel to my determination to crush them—but we had to catch up first. My reaction answered her question.

"Assholes," I muttered between clenched teeth.

"Tell me about it," she agreed. "My point is... that maybe the reason we aren't—aren't doing as well as usual is because—"

My head snapped in her direction, knowing exactly what she was about to say. There was _no way_ she was about to pin this on me. The look on my face obviously made her reevaluate what she was about to say. Her eyes quickly darted away from mine and to the floor of the truck.

"There's no way you're about to say that I'm the reason we're the lowest team on the bracket right now," I seethed. "Not you too."

"That's what Buford told you, wasn't it?" she asked cautiously, like I'd explode if she said the wrong word at the wrong volume. "He told you it was all your fault?"

"Not in so many words," I growled, my eyes gluing themselves back to the country road. "But yeah."

"I don't think it's all your fault," she said quickly, and I rolled my eyes. That's basically what she'd just told me. That I was being too hard on them, I was disrupting the team environment. That I was the reason we were the worst group on the water right now. "I mean, I'm a beginner, I'm sure I'm slowing us down. Buford isn't the most punctual person of all time. And you're really tense and kind of been a bit of dick. We are all to blame."

I glared at her for a second in surprise at her calling me a dick. But I couldn't completely disagree with her. The worst part was, though, that she was wrong about one thing. She wasn't slowing us down. She was actually really good. Scary good for how long she'd been doing this. Since I'd first met her, I was convinced that if we'd had an attitude problem on the boat, it'd be because of her. It killed me as I realized that we'd somewhat flipped roles. I knew that I hadn't exactly been the easiest person to be around lately, but I'd pushed the blame on everyone else to justify my feelings and my behavior. I just couldn't stand being at the bottom. We'd _never_ been at the bottom. I'd never been on 'that' team that couldn't pull their own weight. Mr. John was always so proud of me. Not only was I the son of his best friend and like another son to him, but I was one of the best employees he had. I felt so worthless now.

"You don't look too mad at me for saying that," she said curiously, narrowing her eyes. "I just called you a dick."

I actually laughed, a smile feeling strange after scowling for so long. It felt like my face was cracking.

"Well, if it looks like a duck, and sounds like a duck," I shrugged, sighing. I still avoided her eyes. "I know I haven't been the funnest person to be around lately."

"What did Buford say to you, Chad?"

I felt my jaw clench again. Why couldn't she just drop it? An icy feeling of pure dread was slithering through my stomach again and up into my chest. The last thing I wanted to do was repeat what red-faced Buford had hissed quietly in my face.

"Why does it matter?" I snapped, and the defensive feeling I felt came out venomously in my voice.

"Because it really upset you!" she said, clearly very aggravated. "And I don't like seeing you upset!" I hated how my heart did an odd jumping thing at her concern. "Unless, of course, I'm the one doing it." She grinned cheekily at me, and I tried to hold back a smile. I was supposed to be mad at her. Which I am.

My scowl stayed set on my face. My brows stayed furrowed. I could feel the lines creasing on my forehead.

"Come on! Why won't you tell me?"

"Because it's none of your business, Sonny!"

"It is my business! I'm just as much a part of this team as you two are! I should know what's going on!"

My brain scrambled for a lie to tell her, one that could possibly justify my reaction—the reaction I was still having that I couldn't fully explain or understand.

"He—he—" I muttered. "He just told me what you did."

She rolled her eyes. "No, he didn't. You didn't seem too upset when I said it."

"Hearing it twice I guess," I shrugged, hoping that she couldn't tell I was completely bluffing.

"Well you just agreed with me. Why don't you swallow your pride for two seconds and call him? He's your best friend."

"_Was_ my best friend."

Saying it aloud made it hurt so much worse. I couldn't believe that's where we were now. But what he said—he can't put my job in jeopardy like that, he can't spit something like that in my face and expect me to still count him as someone I could trust. He could make me lose my job over this. He could be the reason all of the money that goes to my college tuition gets cut off. He could be the reason my time with Sonny is cut short.

"You don't mean that."

"Sure I do."

"_Chad_, you can't just—"

"Watch me."

She gaped at me. Her mouth tried to form words. "What he said was _that_ bad?"

"He's putting my job in jeopardy, Sonny. All of my college tuition comes from this job, and from looking out for you. He's pretty much threatening to end my life as I know it right now," I hissed, readjusting my hands on the steering wheel in an effort to get more comfortable. It didn't work.

"How is he threatening your job? Is he going to tell my uncle that you've been a giant dill-hole? That's not enough to get fired, is it?"

_No, he's going to tell him that I not only have inappropriate feelings for his niece that is living with me, but that it's the reason his bottom line is getting destroyed._

"I don't know."

But I didn't have feelings for her. I mean, come on, she's... her. That'd be not only completely inappropriate, but pointless. She's leaving in a few weeks. She lives halfway across the country. I'll probably never see her again.

I'll never see her again.

It seriously bothered me how much that bothered me.

I just now realized that we were pulling into the driveway. I hadn't even realized we'd turned in, it's like I was on autopilot. Sonny didn't open her door to get out. I turned and looked at her. She was watching me, and her expression was enough to tell me that she didn't believe a word I had told her. I hated how receptive she was. I raised my eyebrows innocently, inquiringly. She just shook her head and climbed out of the truck. Her door slammed loudly.

I sighed exasperatedly and got out behind her, following her inside. She didn't speak to me as she calmly walked down the hallway and then not-so-calmly slammed her bedroom door. She knew I was lying to her.

"What did you do now?" my dad asked, splayed out on the couch with one hand behind his head and the remote in the other. I sat down in the spongy recliner beside the couch, sighing and running my hand through my hair then back over my face.

"Who the hell knows," I rolled my eyes. I felt bad for lying to my dad, too, but no one could know what Buford said to me. Dad would completely flip, launching off loudly on his 'you-can't-like-her-like-that' speech. Plus, I didn't want to upset him in any way. His health was concerning me lately. The migraines were worse and lasted longer. He even had to take off of work the other day, which he almost never does. I was determined to make his life as stress-free as possible right now. The last thing he needed to hear was that his son was potentially about to lose his job and the source of his college tuition.

"Is it, uh, you know?" Dad asked me pointedly. I looked at him in confusion. He rolled his eyes. "You know, is it—well, _that time of the month_ or somethin'?"

I gagged. "Ugh, Dad! I don't know!" I wiped my hands on my jeans, shuddering. I suddenly felt dirty.

"I mean, I'm just asking, 'cause you know we ain't got anythin' around the house for that," he tried to say as casually as he could. "Just making sure you don't need to make a run to the store for her or nothin'."

"Ew, no," I shook my head, my face scrunching up in disgust. "Pretty sure she would've let me know if she needed medicine for... that."

He shrugged awkwardly, then suddenly became very interested in the TV. "Hey, look, the Saints just scored a touchdown! Whoo! Football!"

I hastily went to the kitchen, grabbed a cold piece of sausage from the fridge, didn't bother to get a plate, then went to my room to play video games and do other manly, non-related-to-girls things.

* * *

><p>My eyes snapped open and I jolted up in bed. It was still dark. My room was illuminated in the blue light from my small TV, and after a few seconds I registered that I must've fallen asleep while playing Black Ops. Sleepily, I found the control on the ground and turned off the blue light and the annoyingly loud rock music that had to have been playing in a loop for hours now. I groggily slammed back into my bed, the force of my impact forcing two of my pillows to fall off onto the floor. Annoyed, with my eyes halfway closed, I stretched awkwardly to pick them up, my body twisting and contorting uncomfortably to avoid moving further. After ten seconds of trying to reach both of them, I put them back behind my head and sighed loudly. I kicked off my shoes and removed my shirt. At that point I was too lazy to bother getting under the covers.<p>

Suddenly, I bolted back up. I'd heard something.

With my heart pounding, my eyes darting around the seemingly-impenetrable pitch black of my room, I stayed as still as I could, stiff with caution.

"_No, stop!_"

It was Sonny.

Without a second thought, I grabbed the baseball bat from underneath my bed and yanked my door open, rushing to her room down the dark hall in a blind panic. I turned her doorknob and threw open her door as fast as I possibly could, my bat at the ready. At first, all I could see was darkness; I grappled for the light switch.

"_Please!_"

"Sonny, I'm here!" I exclaimed, finally finding the damned thing. Light illuminated the room. I rose my bat, ready to smash the intruder.

My bat dropped to my side. There was no one there. Sonny tossed and turned in her bed, a sweaty sheen covering her face, her eyes still shut tight. Her comforter was on the floor and the sheets were wrapped tightly around her, binding her. With a sigh of enormous relief, I dropped to her side.

"Sonny! Sonny, wake up!" I shook her shoulders.

"_No, please, let me go! I don't want to go!_" she screamed, her eyes still shut tightly.

"_Sonny_! Sonny, you're having a nightmare! Wake up!"

"Wha—?"

She jerked awake, her eyes darting around and taking in her surroundings. I realized with a pang that tears were running steadily down her face, her eyes pink and swollen. I felt another stab of pain when I realized that she must've been crying for a while if her eyes were this red. Involuntarily, I put my hands on both sides of her face and wiped her tears away with my thumbs. Her cheeks were damp with fresh tears and rough with dried ones. Her frantic, shining eyes rested on my concerned ones and stayed there. Her breathing was beginning to slow but the tears kept flowing.

"Sonny, it was just a dream," I whispered softly, my thumbs reaching out to wipe away the new tears that were falling. Her big brown eyes closed and she took a deep breath, exhaled slowly, then took another. She swallowed hard.

"It—it felt so real," she said, her voice scratchy and breaking in odd places. Her eyes started darting around again as if she didn't believe that she had really been dreaming.

I smiled at her and wiped at more tears that were trickling down her face. Her eyes met mine again. "Stop crying," I said quietly, comfortingly. "It wasn't real. It didn't happen. You're fine."

I almost gasped when she suddenly wrapped her arms around me, hugging me as tightly as she could. I could feel new, hot tears soaking my skin. I could feel her eyelashes pressed against my chest. There weren't just tears now, she was crying. Gasping for breath, everything. Not knowing what else to do, I wrapped one arm securely around her back and stroked her hair. I captured a piece of it between my fingers and played with it; twirling it, brushing through it with my fingers, tucking it behind her ear. I pressed my mouth against the top of her head. I didn't kiss her, I just breathed her in and whispered.

"It's okay, it's okay," I mumbled into her hair, rubbing circles into her back. "You're okay. Shh, shh." I could smell her strawberry shampoo.

I'm not sure how long we stayed like that, me knelt by her bed and her embracing me like I'd disappear if she let go. After what felt like the hundredth time of me whispering to her that she was fine, that I was here for her (not that I minded, of course), she stopped gasping and just sniffled. She still didn't let go.

"You okay?" I asked tenderly, pulling away from her just enough to look down at her face. It was red but it wasn't shining with sweat anymore, her eyes were pink but tears weren't pouring from them any longer. I reached up and smoothed out a knot of hair on the side of her head. Even when tangled by a nightmare, it was still shining and silkily smooth.

She didn't say anything, her eyes just searched mine as if she was looking for something hidden there. I held her gaze. Thinking she needed more reassurance, my palm cupped her cheek and my thumb brushed her cheekbone. Sonny reached up and put her hand over the back of my hand, intertwining her fingers with mine and pulling my hand down. She looked at our hands and took a deep breath. I ignored the frantic pounding of my heart, like it was trying to bust through my chest cavity to escape.

Sonny looked up at me, her brown eyes crinkled with her watery smile. "Yeah, yeah. I'm fine." She laughed at herself, rolling her eyes and slamming back onto her bed. "Gosh, talk about pitiful."

I smiled at her as she ran two hands over her face and rubbed her eyes, then ran them through her hair. I couldn't help but notice how her hair spread out behind her on the pillow, how long her lashes were, tiny drops of tears still on the edge of her left eye. Sonny peeked at me and I winked harmlessly at her.

"You are pretty pitiful," I smirked, and she slapped my arm. She was just fine.

Her eyes wandered to the baseball bat on the floor and then back to me with a spark in them. "What's with the bat, Micky Mantel?"

I rolled my eyes exasperatedly and took a seat on the floor, leaning my back against the mattress. I eyed her from the corner of my eye. "Well, ya know, with all of the screaming, I was thoroughly convinced that someone was trying to murder you in here."

She laughed. I grinned at the sound. "Aw, Chad, would you have bashed someone's head in for me?"

I turned to look at her, comical surprise on my face. I draped a hand over my chest. "Pffft, what kind of question is that, ma'am? I sure as hell would!" Sonny giggled and ruffled my hair. "Hey, don't mess up _the_ hair." I tried to sound serious.

"Oh, excuse me, Your Chadness."

"You're excused."

She was suddenly silent. I turned to find out why, curious, and I instantly regretted it. Her face had been very close to the back of my head and now we were only a few inches apart. Her eyes had a new look in them and I didn't know what to make of it. But I knew how it made me feel and how my palms were suddenly very sweaty, and how I suddenly wished that I was wearing a shirt.

"Thank you, Chad," she said quietly, holding my eyes. A smile that I really hoped didn't look goofy spread across my face without me remembering to put it there.

"You know I've always got your back, Munroe," I answered, my voice even quieter than hers had been. Her strong gaze made me immensely uncomfortable and extremely comfortable all at the same time. I had no idea how the hell I was feeling.

She opened her mouth to say something, then closed it again. She bit her lip and smiled at me with it still bit, and I hated how attractive I found that. My heart just pounded harder and I was pretty sure that my cheeks had to be a little flushed from the way my heart had been pounding for a good five minutes or so. Sonny leaned forward and I felt my breath hitch in my throat. My heart hammered relentlessly.

She slowly wrapped her arms around my neck and I didn't know what to do. My mind had completely been wiped blank. All I could see was every detail of her face and all I could hear was my heart drumming in my ears. But my convulsive heart was for nothing. She hugged me. It was softer and less desperate than it had been seconds after I'd woken her up. Her cheek was firmly against my ear and my cheek, and I became very paranoid that she could feel how hot my face was.

Afraid that I'd been sitting there like an idiot for too long, I reached up and stroked her hair a few times. I felt her sigh, her hot breath fanning my neck and bare shoulder. She lowered her head until her nose and lips were against the base of my neck. There goes my heart again. Damn.

"You're really awesome, Chad, you know that?" she mumbled into my neck. My eyes closed tight, savoring the feeling of her lips and her warm breath against my skin. It was hard to get out intelligible words, considering our position and the fact that she just called me awesome—which I'm pretty sure she's done before, but for some reason, the way she said it in this particular moment made it different.

I was awesome.

"Th-Thanks," I finally managed to get out, internally slapping myself at how lame I'd sounded, stuttering like that. I hoped she didn't notice.

I felt her smile against my skin, and I couldn't help but smile too. I was only too thankful she couldn't see my face, becoming hyper-aware of how I'd completely lost control of my expressions. She squeezed the hug tighter then let go and I quickly looked towards the ground, trying to hide anything my face might be betraying.

"You, uh," I cleared my throat, "you should probably try to, uh, go back to sleep."

She frowned. She laid on her back, covering her face. "This might sound kind of dumb... but I'm kind of... scared to."

The corner of my mouth pulled up into a half-smile. "You'll be fine, Sonny. Me and my baseball bat are right next door."

She peeked at me through her fingers and her eyes crinkled with laugh lines. I winked at her again and I really hoped the redness that rose to her cheeks wasn't in my imagination. "Sorry I woke you up."

"Don't be." I stood up slowly, feeling my knees pop. Her hands dropped from her face and rested on her stomach. I leaned down and picked up her tangled comforter, turning it in my arms a few times to make sure it was facing the right way, then fanned it out. I whipped it in the air a few times to straighten it, and while it was still in the air, turned so that it would fall on top of Sonny's bed. I walked to the end of her bed and pulled the corners to adjust it until it was perfectly back on the mattress.

Sonny was watching me again, and I avoided her eyes. "Like I said, you're awesome," she grinned.

"Hey, I'm the host," I shrugged. "Gotta make sure the guest is comfortable."

"Well, thanks to you, she's very comfortable."

"Good."

"Good."

I leaned to pick up my bat, walked to the door and grabbed the knob, walking out to close it. I stuck my head back in. "Goodnight, Sonny."

"Thanks."

"Anytime."

I smiled a small grin and reached in to turn off the light.


	19. Chapter 19

**C H A D**

It'd been an hour since I'd checked on Sonny. And I couldn't sleep. I would close my eyes, try to clear my mind, or at least think about something else—anything else—and she would flicker back onto center stage, making my thoughts wander in ways that they shouldn't be. I'd remember the way she looked me straight in the eyes, with something there that made my heart take off like a freight train. The way I'd thought, for a few seconds, that she was going to kiss me, and how (I now realize) was totally going to let her do it. I thought about the feeling of her lips on the base of my neck, her hot breath in my ear, the smell of her shampoo, the soft feeling of her hair between my fingers. I thought about my hands cupping the sides of her face, wiping her tears away, how much I hated seeing her hysterical like that. And how much I loved when she bit her lip and looked up at me from underneath her lashes. And then... I started thinking about other things. Things that would make Mr. John send a right hook flying into my jaw. And if it didn't break my jaw, he'd keep trying until it did.

I can't think about Sonny like that. I _shouldn't_ think about her like that. I remember the same thing running through my head the moment I set eyes on her. I remember thinking how I'd never seen a girl like that, but then her attitude gave me something negative to focus on, an excuse to not like her. But now that she was usually all smiles and rarely a bitch anymore, I couldn't find anything to keep my mind off of her. She was someone that I could genuinely like now, someone that I _do_ genuinely like. And that 'like' is starting to take another meaning, and it can't. It just _can't_.

She's leaving. She's here until gator season ends, then she's gone. Back to California. Thousands of miles away. Back to her friends, her family, her big fancy house and loaded credit cards; back to her life. Her real life. A life that I wasn't a part of and that I didn't belong in. I'd be a fish out of water. A hillbilly—in their eyes—in a lush, expensive setting that I dirtied with my mere presence.

I can still remember all of the things Sonny said about me, to me, when she first got here. I knew what the people she hung around with would think of me. I knew what they'd say to me, how they'd act around me. Her parents can't be much better. After all, her dad's the one who ran away from here because he hated it so much. He wouldn't want me within a hundred mile radius of his daughter. And the way Sonny described her mother, she'd be just as bad, if not worse.

It'd never work.

I don't belong there. She doesn't belong here. Nothing can come from this but a hole in my chest when she leaves. I'll have one anyway, but it'll just be a puncture. Not a gaping black hole like it would be if I told her how she makes me feel. And what would be worse? If she _did_ feel the same way, and knowing she still had to leave? Or if she _didn't_ and we ruined this kind-of-cool-kind-of-awkward friendship thing we have going on? I can't see anything positive coming in the long run from telling her how I feel.

_Knock-knock_.

I jumped a mile into the air.

"Hey, Chad?" a hesitant voice came through the door. "Are you asleep?"

"Uh, yeah—yeah, yeah, I'm still up," I tried to say casually, but my voice was too clear to have been sleepy whatsoever.

"Do you mind if I come in?"

My eyes widened in panic, shooting down to my pants. Phew, we were good. I had to make sure! Just for good measure I got under my covers and laid a few random pillows at the foot of the bed and near my waist. I propped my hands behind my head.

"Yeah, sure." I think that sounded pretty nonchalant.

The knob turned and Sonny's head peeked through the door, her eyes looking around in the dark then settling on me. She took a step in. I just now realized that she was wearing one of my t-shirts. My chest ached. As if things couldn't get any worse.

"You weren't about to go to sleep, were you?" she asked, looking guilty. I quickly shook my head back and forth. "Okay, good." She took a deep breath and sighed. "I can't sleep."

"Didn't have another nightmare, did you?"

"Nah, I'm just not tired anymore."

A slightly awkward silence passed. Did she want to come in here with me? Did she want us to do something? The thought of Sonny in my bedroom made me uncomfortable in a good way—which was a bad way. I internally slapped myself. I shifted my body subtly to make sure a few pillows were on top of me.

"Can we do something?" she asked, cutting the silence like a knife. "Is there anything in the kitchen to eat? Or is there anything good on TV right now?"

I exhaled in relief. _Get your mind out of the gutter, Chad!_ "Well, it's—" I turned to look at the glowing red numbers on my alarm clock "—about 2:30. Nothing too good's gonna be on cable right now. There might be some sausage in the refrigerator but besides that, I don't think we got much around here to eat. We need to go to the store soon."

She sighed in disappointment. I didn't want her to go back to her room. I'd think of something. I suddenly had an idea. "Hey, Munroe, you any good at Black Ops?"

She looked at me like I'd started speaking another language. "What?"

"I'll take that as a no," I smirked, throwing my covers back and sitting up. I pushed the power button on my tiny television and turned on my PS4. The screen glowed to life and it hummed welcomingly. I held a controller out to her, and understanding dawned on her face. She looked apprehensive. I wagged it around in my hand. "It doesn't bite."

She glared at me for a second, then took it, taking a seat by me on the side of my bed. I ignored the thoughts going through my head. _Cut it out, Chad_. The menu for the game came up and I hastily focused my thoughts and energy on creating a character for Sonny and explaining to her what buttons made what happen. Her face clearly showed that she wasn't taking in much of what I was saying. I smirked. She's started showing me up out on the boat a bit lately... at least here's something I can still dominate in.

* * *

><p>"Haha! Chad, I blew your head off <em>again<em>!"

My lip twitched.

"You can stop going easy on me, you know," she snorted. Without answering, I quickly started another round and was determined to slay her into oblivion.

Three minutes later, my poor soldier was lying on the ground bleeding. I barely had any life left. The red lines blinked threateningly at me. Sonny jumped out from behind a car that resembled Swiss cheese, covered of bullet holes, and fired off three rounds—excessive if you ask me. I ran behind a concrete corner and tried to retreat inside a house, to maybe snipe her from the upstairs window. I'd rushed upstairs and taken my position in front of the window, but the second I got there, she was ready for me. Sonny fired one shot and I was on the ground before I'd had a chance to even touch a button. Before I could stop myself, my mouth fired off a few words that were not appropriate to say in front of a lady. Sonny looked at me in surprise, and right when I was about to apologize, she started laughing at me. I quickly stopped myself from saying sorry.

"Are you really trying your hardest?" she giggled, putting a hand over her mouth. "Seriously?"

I just clenched my jaw and threw the controller to the floor with a clatter. I slammed back onto my bed, running my hands over my face. Part of me was beyond pissed that I was losing consistently to not only a girl, but a girl that'd only started learning how to play video games 40 minutes ago. I knew I wasn't the best, but right now my performance is a disgrace to men everywhere. Another part of me was a little too riled up, realizing that Sonny was not only good at hunting gators, but that she can play video games too. I both hated that, and as a single guy, loved it. It was hot. I quickly shut that thought down right away.

"Shut up," I muttered through my hands. Sonny just laughed at me. And if I didn't love her laugh so much, I'd really be annoyed—or _more_ annoyed. She snorted loudly, then quickly stopped laughing, her hands shooting to cover her mouth and nose. I rose my eyebrows at her. "Did you just _snort_?"

"Shut up," she said through her hands, glaring at me.

"No, did you just _snort_?" I asked, sitting up and pushing her shoulder. Now I was laughing at her. She stared daggers through me but I kept on laughing anyway. "You snort when you laugh really hard?"

"S-Sometimes I do," she spluttered angrily, "but I hate it. Stop laughing!"

How could she _hate_ it? "What?" I asked, feigning surprise. Sonny kept glaring at me. "You don't like sounding like a pig?"

She hit my bare shoulder a little harder than was necessary. I didn't flinch. I shoved her shoulder again teasingly.

"It's so dorky," she mumbled, looking down. While I both completely agreed and disagreed, I tried to make her feel better either way.

"It's funny," I grinned. "I mean, yeah, it's nerdy, but on you it's—"

Silence.

I clenched my jaw and bit my tongue. Damn it, Chad! She was looking at me expectantly. I tried to cover my ass. "On you, it's... less nerdy." Wow. Nice.

She rose a skeptical eyebrow at me and I knew that I wasn't convincing. "Gee, thanks," she deadpanned.

"Hey, you know you're not a nerd," I told her, lying back down on my back, my legs still hanging off the side of the bed. "Well, I mean, you totally are—" She kicked my knee. I smirked. "—but not in the conventional sense."

"What sense then?" she asked me, and my stomach squirmed when she laid on her back beside me, even though she was a few feet away.

"I mean, your snorty laugh is like a 12 on the nerd scale of 1-10," I began, and received the corresponding punch to my shoulder. "And your good at video games. Which is totally nerdy."

"You only say it's nerdy because you suck."

I gasped in fake offense and shoved her shoulder again. We'd both have bruises by the time the night was over. "_Munroe_!" She giggled at my ghastly tone. "Never insult a man's gaming ability!"

"Why? What are you gonna do about it?" she demanded playfully, propping up on her elbow. I pretended to glare at her.

"I'll push you in the swamp."

I knew there was enough old Sonny left in her for that to bother her, because she couldn't hide her disgust before her face clearly gave it away.

"You better not." She was dead serious.

I smirked. "Guess we'll have to see in the morning, won't we?"

Her glare turned into a real one. "Chad, I'm serious, don't you dare push me in that dirty, parasite-infested water."

I rolled my eyes. "Oh, please, I've swam in that stuff since I was three, and look how I turned out!"

"My point exactly."

I actually gaped at that one. I hadn't gotten stings like that thrown my way for over a month. But then she smiled at me, and I knew that she was joking. I think.

"Fine, Munroe, you win," I rolled my eyes. But I kept a smirk on face to make her uneasy. It worked, because she kept glancing back and forth from the ceiling to me.

We laid there for a while and didn't say anything. I listened to the sound of her breathing and studied the patterns and shadows made by the popcorn ceiling.

"You know, Sonny, we might have some boxes of dried cereal somewhere up in the cabinet for a snack. You like frosted Cheerios?"

Only silence answered me. I turned my head to look at her to see what the problem was, but there was no problem. She was sound asleep, her mouth open in a perfect 'O', softly snoring. I sighed, unsure of what to do. Do I just let her lay there? Do I wake her up? Do I carry her to her room? Do I readjust her and let her sleep in my bed? I mean, she was lying the wrong way on the bed, her feet were hanging off of the end. That couldn't be comfortable for long. With a reluctant sigh, I stood up and reached for her hands. I pulled her up to a sitting position, her soft snores uninterrupted, and put an arm around her back and another underneath her knees. I lifted until I was carrying her bridal style and quickly turned her around until her head was on one of my pillows. Without much trouble, I got the sheets and comforter over her. She hadn't moved a muscle. Willing myself not to stare, I shook my head and grabbed a few extra pillows at the foot of my bed. I trudged to Sonny's room and grabbed her blanket that I'd recently put back on, then shuffled out to the couch. I settled down, flipped on the TV, and watched one episode of some freaky alien conspiracy show on The History Channel before I slowly drifted off to sleep myself.

* * *

><p>"Chad?"<p>

I was being shaken.

"Mm, go away," I grumbled, swatting away the hands.

"Chad, why ain't you in bed?"

It was my dad's voice. My unwilling eyes slowly blinked open, protesting against the bright light of the morning that was pouring in through the windows. My dad's confused face came into focus. "Sonny's in my bed." My dad's face made me hastily explain. "Long story short, she had a nightmare, couldn't sleep, came to my room, we played video games, she fell asleep, I came out here." My voice was scratchy and cracked in weird places. I rubbed the sleep and crust from my eyes.

"Oh," my dad said, obviously caught off guard. "Okay, then. Well I'm going to work today, I need to catch up, I've been missin' so much lately." He scratched at his dark beard.

My tired eyes assessed him, my eyebrows pulling together. "But, it's Saturday. You don't work on Saturdays."

"Well, I am today," he sighed, running a hand through his messy hair and putting on a cap with his other. "I'm too behind."

"You sure you're up to that, Dad?" I asked, sitting up and watching him cautiously. His eyes narrowed at me.

"I'm fine, Chad, I told you," he said slowly. "I just have headaches every now and then. That's all there is to it."

He had them a lot more often than 'every now and then', but I kept that to myself, knowing that an argument would break out and it would do no good to try to convince him to go to the doctor. He would never go.

He paced over to the kitchen, got a pop tart from the cabinet, and went out the door without another word to me. I sighed, groaning. I was seriously concerned about him, but he absolutely refused to go see anyone about his pains. If something was wrong, what if things were just getting worse? I shook my head, shaking away the thoughts that were only toxic to me. I can't think that way. It wasn't healthy. Mom's death made me paranoid about anything medical. I needed to be calm and level-headed about this.

Now too awake to fall back asleep, I heaved myself off the couch, stretched my stiff joints, felt and heard them pop, then slowly walked to the kitchen. Still not completely coherent, I rooted around in the refrigerator and found a few eggs left. I made three eggs in a nest for myself, then two for Sonny. If the smell of food didn't wake her up, I'd go wake her up myself.

Again, I flinched when some of the grease bounced from the pan onto my stomach and chest. I really need to start wearing a shirt when I cook.

After I put my plate on the table, I went to go wake Sonny. I slowly opened my door, making it creak and whine loudly. She didn't stir. Sonny was splayed in all directions on my bed, still soundly asleep, with my cover halfway on the floor and my sheets kicked to her ankles. I rolled my eyes. I tried to ignore the fact that almost all of her toned stomach was exposed, my t-shirt hiked up to her chest. I thanked the good Lord that it hadn't ridden up any more. The _last_ thing I needed was to see something that I didn't need to see.

"Hey, Sonny," I said softly, having to climb on the bed myself to reach her. I sat by her head and shook her arm. She showed no sign of having felt a thing. I shook her again, but all she did was snore a little more loudly and turn her head. Her hair thrown in all directions, I flicked her clearly exposed ear. She flinched in her sleep but still didn't wake up. I rolled my eyes. I wish I was this deep of a sleeper! Smirking, I flicked her nose. She wiped at her nose in her sleep, sniffing, then turned on her side towards me, still completely out. I laughed, grinning at her behavior. I cleared my throat and sat up straighter. "_I'm about to get the ice bucket_!"

Sonny shot up, disoriented, hair sticking in every direction. "I'mb up—I'mb awake!" she exclaimed nasily, nearly falling back over on her side in dizziness. I laughed loudly. She rubbed her eyes and slowly turned to look at me in a Chucky-like fashion, glaring as much as she could in her sleepy state. "You jerk."

"Hey, I tried the gentle way about five times," I shrugged, smiling at her in a way that I tried to make very charming. "I even flicked your nose."

She looked at me like I was crazy for a second, then threw the remaining covers off of herself. She looked around, seeming to be taking in her surroundings for the first time.

"Wait. Did I fall asleep in here?" she asked, the end of the question almost not understandable due to a long yawn.

"Yep."

"Where did you sleep?" Sonny asked, and she suddenly seemed a little more awake. I rolled my eyes at her.

"On the couch. As if I could sleep in the same bed as you." She stared at me in a way that suggested she didn't know whether to be offended or not. "You kick all the covers off and would probably push me on the floor." I flashed a cheesy smile at her and jumped off of the bed. "Come on, I cooked breakfast."

She still sleepily glared at me, but it was rendered ineffective by her dazzling smile. How she managed to have a smile that great this early in the morning, I'll never understand.

* * *

><p>With my heart pounding, I slowly opened the door to Mr. John's office. It was the big office. The one he uses when someone's in trouble, getting fired, or getting a promotion. I really hoped that it was the latter, but I had a feeling that with my team's performance this season, a raise or a promotion wasn't a possibility.<p>

I was right.

On the way to the bayou that morning, my boss had called me. His voice had been strained and somewhat grave. He told me that I needed to stop by his office before we went to work on the water; that he 'needed to have a serious talk' with me. My mouth had gone as dry as cotton. I couldn't come up with anything to swallow. My stomach turned in sickening circles and hills as I knew what this had to be about—Buford had talked to Mr. John. He'd told him that I had inappropriate feelings for Sonny and that I couldn't hunt because of it.

I pushed the heavy oak door forward and stepped in, letting out a long breath that I hadn't realized I'd been holding. Sonny was waiting in the truck alone. I'd been as vague with her about what was going on as Mr. John had been with me. Her forehead had creased in worry and she patted my arm, telling me that there was no way I could be in that much trouble, that I was too hard of a worker, that I'd been too good of an employee all of these years. I really hoped she was right.

Mr. John was ready for me, his hands clasped together on his desk and his eyes watching me closely. He was wearing his gold rings. I heard the door shut behind me, but I couldn't seem to make my feet unglue from the floor. We just stared at each other for what felt like minutes, but in reality was probably only a few seconds. I tried to gauge his face, his eyes. It was like he was wearing a blank mask. I couldn't decipher a single thing that was running through his head.

"Take a seat, Chad," he sighed, motioning aimlessly to the armchairs in front of his desk. I did as I was told without speaking a word. I waited for him to begin the conversation, but he refused to look at me. He stared at a spot on his desk, chewing the inside of his cheek in a very dissatisfied way. I thought I saw a flicker of anger in his eyes.

I uncomfortably looked down to my hands, trying to find something interesting to do with them. He sighed very loudly again and my eyes darted back up to meet his. They were irritated.

"Chad," he said my name in a very formal way, and I didn't like it one bit, "I've been informed of something early this morning... something that I didn't see coming, something that puts me in a very hard position to be in." If my face didn't look incredibly guilty right now, it would be a miracle. He picked up a fountain pen and studied it, twisting it and and twirling it like a baton between his fingers. His aggravated and focused eyes snapped up to meet my guilty and shifty ones. "Chad, I've known you since you were in diapers. Your dad is like a brother to me, much more even than my own damn brother is." I flinched internally at this guilt trip he was laying onto me. "I... was told of some very unfortunate news this morning."

"Mr. John, I'm so sorry," I spat out, trying to get the bitter taste of secrets and guilt from my mouth.

"Yeah, so am I," he said firmly. "One of my financial advisers called me and told me that our stocks dropped dramatically last night, more so than they have in years. Investors were clogging up the phone lines this morning asking to reduce their shares and many just pulled out altogether. And apparently we aren't the only ones. The stock market as a whole took a damn big plunge last night. Not as bad as '08, obviously, but bad enough."

I tried as hard as I possibly could to hide the massive relief that I was feeling. This wasn't about Buford, or Sonny, or betraying Mr. John's trust. I was off the hook. "Mr. John... that's awful... I'm sorry to hear that..."

"Chad, almost 25% of our income for the past few years has been coming from stocks and investments. We've been soaring in the market consistently for years now. Well, until last night." He sighed and shut his eyes tightly, rubbing his hand over his face, making it red. "I talked to my main finance guy this morning about what steps we need to take to stay out of the red. The reason I'm tellin' you all this is because... we might have to make some cuts. Cuts in supplies, cuts in pay, we may even have to switch to generic versions in some of our inventory." I flinched. Customers wouldn't like that. "But the main thing is... I'm probably gonna have to let some people go."

My heart, which had just been soaring through the room in relief, dropped like an anvil into the floor. I gaped. "Let—let people go?" He nodded solemnly. "How—how are you gonna make that decision? Who stays and who goes?"

He looked at me in a way that made me intensely anxious. I felt my breathing become shallow. He didn't answer me, avoiding my panicked stare. Every scenario was racing through my head. How could he fire me? How could he even _consider _firing me? I'd been one of his best for years now! Sure, I'm having a down year, but other people have had bad seasons for years in a row, and he never let them go. This wasn't fair! I'm his family! I work hard! I'm one of the hardest workers here!

"Chad, you know that you're like a son to me," he said gravely, his voice barely over a whisper.

"Mr. John—"

"The last thing I want to do is let you go."

"Then don't!" I exclaimed, fighting back hot, angry tears that were threatening to make an appearance. I was _so_ angry, so betrayed. He couldn't do this to me. This can't be happening.

"Whoa, Chad, hold your horses!" he threw his hands in the air, staring at me like I was a ticking time bomb. "I'm not firing you right now."

"Right now?" I demanded through clenched teeth. I struggled to keep my tone respectful.

"The fact is, I don't know if I'll have to fire you or not," he shook his head, running a hand through his thinning hair, looking worn. "I've figured the only way to fairly choose who stays and who goes is to assess the totals of filled tags at the end of the season. It's the only fair way. I can't play favorites here, Chad, everyone knows that our families are practically like kin."

"But—but—" I spluttered, so angry that I almost couldn't form coherent words. My face felt like the eye of a stove. "You know that my team's at the bottom of the bracket so far this season, Mr. John!"

"That's why I called you in here, son. You've still got a week left, and I know you. I know you can fill those tags. You're a hard worker."

"Exactly!" I couldn't help from yelling. Mr. John didn't look even somewhat shaken, like he knew I was going to react this way. That made me even angrier. "I'm a hard worker! I'm one of the hardest workers you have! I consistently deliver every single season, and I'm almost always at the top, Mr. John! I'm just—just having an off year! It had to happen sometime! It's not fair for you to forget everything I've done every other season and maybe lay me off because I had one bad year! Dylan and Langford were at the bottom for three years in a row and you kept them around! Just because I happen to have some trouble the year the stocks go down, don't punish me for it! Don't punish B-Buford for it!" I was still so angry with Buford at this point that I almost didn't get his name out.

"Now, Chad, calm down," my boss said sternly, pointing a finger at me. I just now realized that I was standing up with my hands gripping the edge of his desk. I let go, but my hands were still buzzing with rage. I couldn't sit down, my legs wouldn't let me. "Do you seriously think I haven't taken all of that into consideration? Do you really think I'd screw you over like that?" I stayed silent, my lips pressed together so tightly that it was painful. "Think about it, Chad. You're about to be a Sophomore in college. You won't be at home during the summer much longer. You're about to move out, get your own place, pay your own bills, get a job closer to LSU. This might have been your last summer here anyway." I continued to glare. "You know that most of the other teams are younger than you and Buford, they're high schoolers. They need a job close to home and we're one of the only places locally that hire kids part time. That goes over well with the locals, the customers. As much as I hate to do it concerning you, I _have_ to look at the big picture here."

"What about Dylan and Langford?" I demanded through my teeth. "They're my age and they've filled less tags than I have when you 'look at the big picture'."

He sighed, sparing an impatient glance at me. "That's my point, Chad. I'm not gauranteeing anyone's job right now—Buford's and Langford's included. I never said for sure that I was going to let you go, but that's what you're actin' like!"

I slammed back down into my chair, staring out of the elaborate window stubbornly. I couldn't believe we were even having this conversation. "Have you told anyone else or am I the only one?"

"You're the first I've told, but not the last," he said evenly. "I thought you deserved to know first, considerin' the position you're in with tags this year. Plus, what can I say, you're my favorite." I rolled my eyes at the irony of his statement.

"Is that all?" I asked a little coldly, refusing to look at him. He sighed at me.

"Yeah, that's it."

I stood, stalked from the office, and closed the door a little harder than I probably should have. I'll feel bad about that later. Right now, I have more important things to think about.

Like keeping my job.


End file.
